Femme Des Ombres
by Miluielwen
Summary: Assigned to work with the 101st Airborne, a woman of shadows - nurse, spy and soldier all wrapped into one - tries to find her way into the light. Circumstances set her free; friendship sustains her; but it is love that brings her home. Please R&R!
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: this story is based chiefly on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.**

* * *

London, September 1940. In a city suffering under the strains of conflict it was hard to imagine it had only been a year since the United Kingdom had declared Germany its enemy for refusing to withdraw their troops from Poland. Every day people would look at the memorials of the last great war, wondering what was ahead; the old remembering, the young speculating. Would they find themselves marching through fields of blood-red poppies, passing by the crosses of a lost generation? Would Hitler, the bold and underestimated upstart from Austria, dare to make a move against the stronghold of Albion? Little seemed certain now that Europe had taken up arms again.

In the midst of the troubled metropolis, the soft light and quiet music of Madame Fidolia's ballet school provided an unusual sanctuary to the handful of pupils she had left. Most could no longer afford her classes and even the grand dame herself had been forced to take up a second job, yet a lucky few were still able to escape to the solace of her studio every once in a while. The young man entering the building on the afternoon of a faithful autumn's day was in search of one of those few, taking off his hat as he seated himself along the back wall and marveled at the lithe motions of the dancers. A piano in the far corner wove a gentle Chopin melody around the young women while they moved through their steps, the blinds behind them half-drawn as though to protect their delicate figures from the anxiety and tribulations of the world outside. Scanning the room, the impeccably dressed gentleman's gaze lingered briefly on the bent and dainty form of the old ballet mistress before moving on to find the person he'd come looking for.

Taller and more curvaceous than the majority of her fellow students, Eleanor Fairfax was nevertheless an elegant presence, her limbs twisting and turning fluidly from one position to the next. From the back all her friend could see of her face was the arch of her neck under an intricate chignon of honey blonde hair, but he smiled in recognition regardless and watched her, silently, quietly enraptured, until the music wound down and the dancers eased into their final poses. Madame Fidolia made a couple of stern observations, then clapped her hands in dismissal and wandered off as her pupils scattered to retrieve their belongings.

Standing towards the front, Eleanor sighed and turned on her heel, ducking her head to pull the cumbersome pins out of her hair. By the time she raised her eyes again she was greeted by Peter Feversham's familiar smile. "Peter, darling!" she exclaimed in delight, hurrying forward to kiss him on the cheek, "Whatever are you doing here?"

Chuckling, he handed her bag to her and looked on in amusement as she dug through it to find her cardigan. "Why, picking you up, of course," he said once she was shrugging into the garment, "You didn't think I'd let you walk home all on your own, did you?"

Eleanor quirked a mischievous eyebrow at him, her fingers flitting over mother-of-pearl buttons with practiced ease. "Well, I don't know," she teased, "Given your recent interest in Lizzie Tallis I thought you might be otherwise preoccupied."

Peter let out an incredulous laugh. "You horrid little minx!" he declared, attempting a look of outrage but failing miserably when a grin broke out across his face. "You know Eliza could never steal me away from you."

Switching her shoes and tying the laces, his friend barely kept herself from snorting in derision, knowing it would be terribly unladylike of her to do so. She could not suppress a bit more mockery, however. "Aye, but her fortune might."

"You sell yourself short, my dear," Feversham observed, waiting patiently as she said a quick goodbye to one of the other dancers before turning back to him. Inclining her head, Eleanor linked her arm with his fondly.

"By consorting with the likes of you? Certainly."

They left the building together and stepped out into the watery sun beating down on the capital. There was an affection and familiarity to their banter born of years of friendship and mutual trust; though Eleanor had spent much of her childhood abroad in France, their families had always been close and visits had been regular enough for them to strike up a bond. Looking down at her bobbing curls as her heels clicked on the pavement, Feversham remembered what he had originally intended to ask her.

"Speaking of the likes of me, Andrew's having a jolly at his later."

Eleanor hummed thoughtfully. "Is he now?" she replied vaguely, mind already whirling. It had been an awfully long while since she had last seen her friends, but she also had an early class scheduled the next morning. Being a student at the London School of Medicine for Women was a great privilege, one she was all too aware of; indeed, being able to study medicine at all was an honor considering her gender. Peter, however, seemed oblivious to her busy timetable.

"Indeed he is," he confirmed, the slightest hint of a thrill in his voice, "It's not the Embassy, but it'll do for the evening. Goodness knows we all need a break from this gloomy business."

"I do believe you mean the war, Feversham," Eleanor remarked drily, gazing off into the distance to stall the conversation and ponder his proposal. It wasn't to be: she heard him scoff within the span of a heartbeat and was forced to return her attention to him not a second after.

"Oh, come on, old girl!" Peter chimed, noticing her hesitation and pouncing on it, "It's only dinner and some drinks. You can't seriously be considering _not_ coming!" He paused, lowering his voice to an almost theatrical whisper. "Is it that silly school of yours again?"

She made a small sound of dismay and smacked his arm in outrage. "Peter! Don't be ghastly!" The fact that her friends in the _bon ton _didn't exactly approve of her choice in career - or her choice of having a career to begin with, for that matter - hadn't escaped her and their frequent ridicule of it was hardly new, but she loved what she did and wasn't about to let his nonchalant dismissal of it slide. "I happen to enjoy what I do," she protested, frowning up at him.

"Well of course you do," the young aristocrat shrugged, grinning impishly, "But it takes up so much of your time, Glorious. We barely see you anymore!"

Blushing at the old nickname, Eleanor burrowed deeper into her overcoat and ran through her options until she rolled her eyes with a sigh and finally gave in. "Oh, all right," she conceded, smiling at her companion, "But just for a few hours, and we're going to have to go by mine so I can change."

Feversham looked somewhat infuriatingly triumphant at her answer, but she ignored it much the same way she ignored the perhaps overly casual arm he slung around her shoulders. "Marvelous!" he declared, "Now all I need to do is get a good glass of champers down you and it's a party." Laughing at her appalled expression, he led her down the winding London streets and on towards her home.

* * *

Mere hours later Eleanor found herself clad in fine silks and perched on an ornate settee, the promised drink poised in her hand. All around her were the handsome and dapper youths she called her friends, drunk on the upperclass lifestyles they had been raised with and blase with all the worldliness of the young and not very wise. They dragged idly from their cigarettes, discussing the finer things in life and exchanging witticisms over a roaring fire; their chatter mixed with the upbeat tones of Glenn Miller coming from an antique gramophone in the next room over. For the time being at least, the war seemed very far away.

Leaning back against the velvet cushions, Eleanor laughed heartily at her partner's joke, happily buzzed from the champagne she'd been provided with upon arrival. Some small part of her nagged that drinking the finest money had to offer was hardly fair when millions lived off food stamps and rationing, but it felt good to simply smile and enjoy the company for once. It was, if nothing else, a welcome relief from the stress of her medical training. Still, her thoughts wandered to her parents almost inadvertently, imagining what their reaction to her current situation in life might have been like. Her mother, God rest her, would probably have fretted over the loose curls streaming down her shoulders (_for goodness' sake, girl, fix your hair!_) and worried about her marriage prospects (_what eligible woman in her right mind chooses to study medicine?_), while her late father would more than likely have lectured her on the need to serve her country. An American diplomat, he had always had a strong sense of patriotism and morality; it was his voice Eleanor heard whenever she thought of those less fortunate she ought to be helping. While enlistment was not particularly high up on her to do list, she felt as though she wasn't entirely throwing her life away on vain pursuits and luxuries either. Doctors were always needed in times like these, she told herself, and she _could_ help the people that came to her hospital. It might not have been exactly what her darling papa had wished for her, but it was a happy medium all the same.

She rose from the couch and, having spotted Peter on the opposite end of the room, patted her friend on the shoulder in farewell and ambled over towards him. Her cheeks dimpled when Feversham turned around and called out an exuberant "Glorious!", letting herself be dragged into the folds of his little group of acquaintances. She took his hand without thought and inclined her head courteously as he introduced her to a few newcomers, about to respond to a question when the air raid alarm went off in the distance. Startling briefly, Eleanor looked around in a strange sort of awe as people began to move about and exchange alarmed glances until Andrew, in the midst of it all, raised his voice. "Everyone remain calm, please!" he urged, "It's just another drill, no doubt. We'll go down to the shelter."

_Keep calm and carry on,_ as the government would urge them-and so they did. They were English, after all, and there had been so many false alarms in the past it was practically procedure by now. Nevertheless Peter clung to her hand as they went down to the basement, the touch of it a comfort she realized she did not mind. It felt good to have him close, her heart stirring peculiarly at the warmth of his grasp, when suddenly-

_Boom._

Somewhere outside, a blast rattled the old Georgian house and had the column of people halfway down its staircase freezing in fear. _Boom. Boom._

Shocked gasps and mutters nearly drowned out Andrew's appeals to move along downstairs. "So much for it only being a drill," Eleanor breathed, biting her lip as they entered the shelter and tried to settle in for the night. Uneasiness grew as the bombardment went on for hours upon end; without any direct information, the young friends could only guess as to what was going on above ground. After so many months of preparations, it seemed surreal to be living through a genuine air raid.

When silence finally fell and the all clear rang out Eleanor was the first to rise, running up the stairs despite the protests that rose up along with her, sidestepping broken glass and throwing open the garden doors to look out at the world beyond. She gasped at the sight of it, clasping a hand over her mouth when she saw the smoke and dust and blaze of fire rising over the east of London, the awful truth now hitting her like a ton of bricks. This was it-there was no going back now. War had come to Britain at last.

"Dear God," Peter breathed, coming up beside her and reaching out to grasp her hand again, only to feel it slip from his fingers when she stepped back. "Nell?" he questioned softly, seeing her stagger dazedly inside. "Eleanor!"

Looking back at him briefly, she shook her head and searched her surroundings for her purse. "I've got to get to the hospital," she said faintly, grabbing the beaded bag and inhaling sharply when Feversham grabbed _her_ by the arm.

"Don't," he implored her, "Don't go. Stay."

Sad eyes darkened by a new understanding stared up at him as she broke away. "I can't."

What felt like a lifetime later a distinguished elderly man stepped into the chaotic halls of the Royal Free Hospital, evading frenzied looking nurses and bloodied civilians. Taking off his hat, he made his way into the ward he had been directed to. The blackout blinds were still half-shut, as though their removal had been forgotten in the hectic early hours of the day, and yet it wasn't hard to find the person he had come to look for. Scanning the room swiftly the impeccably dressed gentleman found her between the beds, tending to a patient alongside numerous other staff. Tall, pretty enough, longish hair braided hastily back, she wore a medical apron over what must have once been a very fashionable ivory dress. Both were stained with red, and yet she was admirably composed for someone her age and given the circumstances. Seeing she was about to take off, the man cleared his throat.

"Miss Fairfax," he called, effectively halting her as she threatened to rush by him. She swiveled around, curious blue eyes finding his.

"Yes?"

"There's something I would like to discuss with you," the man said, getting straight down to business despite the look of weary bemusement on her face. "Please come with me."


	2. There'll Always Be An England

**Disclaimer: this story is based chiefly on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.**

* * *

_It was one of the darkest nights she remembered. Her breath had clouded in the cool night air as she ran along the sandy dunes of northern France, having escaped from Normandy only a few days before and never once looked back since. There would be a boat waiting for her near Calais - a fisherman's boat, one that wouldn't attract too much attention - and all she had to do was get to it. _

_Unfortunately, getting to it had been rather exactly what had proven to be problematic._

_She had caught her breath when gunfire erupted in the distance, freezing and turning, wide-eyed, to discover where it was coming from. The repeated flare of it had been bright against the inky black of the night and far too close for comfort. "Dépèchez-vous!" her contact had hissed, grabbing her arm, "Il n'ya pas du temps." Nodding vaguely, she had followed him up the crest of dunes and over the hill until her medium for escape had appeared into view._

_The boat had been small, rickety, and the irony of escaping the continent on such a little ship wasn't lost on her. She had hopped in, water lapping at her legs as she grabbed hold of the calloused hand the fisherman extended to her. "Allez!" the maquisard had urged from the shore, pushing them into the breach of the channel; she had held his eyes until the dingy was too far gone and he had turned back into the gloom. _

_She had not been able to sleep that night. The cold fog of early autumn had settled on them like a dreary blanket and there had been too many thoughts - too many memories - running through her mind for her to settle down and find even the slightest measure of peace._

_It had been three years since she had been recruited by the Special Operations Executive. Three years of war, secrecy and hard living; three years of loss and horror and enduring hope. When the boatman had shaken her from her silent contemplation and pointed out the glorious white cliffs of Dover where they loomed on the horizon, it had seemed like a lifetime... and she hadn't been able to stop the tears from falling._

* * *

Eleanor startled awake, blinking rapidly until the white of England's famous shores faded into the green of its picturesque countryside. Swallowing thickly, it took her a moment to regaining her bearings. This was Wiltshire, not Normandy, and she was en route to her next assignment-not fleeing for her life. Up ahead she could see the peaceful town of Aldbourne, undamaged and unspoiled by bombs and artillery; it was a far cry from the war-torn landscape she had spent most of her recent past amongst. She sighed, feeling the jolt of adrenaline dissipate slowly. _I'm safe. Everything's all right. This is where I'm supposed to be._

There had been a time, not too long ago, when the gentle autumn breeze that tugged at her hair or the smell of the damp earth around the road would have been enough to soothe her. In the past it had unfailingly reminded her of days spent in the country, had had the connotation of _safe_ and _family_ and _home_. These days, however, _safe _was the cold touch of the gun stuck in the waistband of her skirt, out of sight but definitely not out of mind; _family_ had little meaning anymore, and _home_ even less so. What little certainties she'd had left had been brutally ripped from her when she had been forced to flee France - not once, not twice, but three times over - and whatever remained... well... she wasn't really too certain about that, either.

Now that she had her breathing more or less under control again and her hands shook only minutely, she focused on setting her thoughts straight. Out of long habit she sought to establish who she was first; 'never get your details mixed up' was operative school elementary, after all, and she had yet to learn to the contrary.

_Eléonore Clinard. Twenty-one. Secretary and socialite, mixed descent. _She winced. No, that had been Paris. _Lucie_ _Lazure, twenty-two- _right age, wrong name- _Alienor Gauthier. Twenty-two. Nurse. Francaise, born and bred. _Damn it, that was Normandy. She had left those behind, hadn't she? She had moved on. She'd had to. Biting her lip, she steered towards more recent memories, forcing herself to recall the meeting in London...

_The OSS could use people like you. We are aware there are some concerns for your safety, but we'll need all hands on deck for the coming invasion._

"You all right, ma'am?" a voice beside her asked, curiosity evident in its tone, and she turned to see the driver glancing at her from the corner of his eyes. _Shit. Concentrate, would you?_

_You will be commissioned into the army nurse corps as an officer. If anybody asks, you worked with the Red Cross before transferring to the military._

"Yeah," she drawled, inflecting her words carefully and smiling thinly at the private behind the wheel, "I'm fine."

_Lieutenant Eleanor Fairfax. Twenty-three. Nurse._

Her hands finally stopped trembling.

_American._

* * *

She knew she was in trouble when she had difficulty remembering who she was supposed to be. Before, aliases and mission details had always come at the snap of a finger; now she couldn't even remember something as basic as her name. It was her own name, for Christ's sake. She ought to know her own name, didn't she? Other incarnations had been slipped on and off like items of clothing - or so she had tried to convince herself, in any case - but now that she was at last expected to return to some semblance of her old self again, she'd tripped up over her own bloody name. _God help me._

There had never been these kind of problems before. Not really. Previous covers had been easy enough to square with, to take on like a character in a play and lose herself in entirely. Eléonore had been alluring, sophisticated, and decidedly unconcerned by the German occupation so long as she could satisfy her own selfish needs; exactly what had been required to worm her way into the upper circles of occupied France. Alienor, on the other hand, had been meek, quiet, an unassuming nurse who didn't stand out from the crowd and kept her head down; a perfect distraction from the clandestine work she did at night. Whatever the details, they had served their purpose and allowed her to slip into the persona she'd needed to be to get the job done.

But then perhaps it was precisely that: in her mind, Eleanor Fairfax was still the young, pampered socialite from London, the girl who had been missing since the autumn of 1940 but had only gradually been lost since then. She wasn't just another smoke screen; she wasn't even truly fitted to the purpose of this assignment. Parts of her had been scattered across the training grounds of the Scottish highlands, the cobbled streets of Paris, the icy woods of the Auvergne and the beaches of Normandy, but they were all that remained-parts. They couldn't just be put together again to flesh out the as of yet indeterminate, run-of-the-mill nurse currently being driven around the English countryside. There was no going back to what had been before.

_But oh, God, where does that leave me? Who the hell even am I anymore?_

She inhaled slowly, forcing down the panic reemerging in her chest. Forget the past. Remember the briefing. _American. Right. Different accent. _That was simple enough. Her father's New England lilt wasn't hard to adopt and would help her focus; after all she had seen and done it was a constant, comforting reminder of the sense of duty and purpose she had signed on with in the first place. Hard as it was to remember those feelings nowadays, the renewed memory of the values her father had instilled her with would be a welcome one-even if was a tad more personal than she would have liked.

One hurdle down, plenty to go. Based on accent alone people would no doubt assume she had grown up in the States, and it would probably be easiest to just run with that; but in doing so, would she have to pretend she knew nothing of the continent-to push all the intimate knowledge she had of occupied France to the dark crevices of her mind? What good would she be to anyone if she'd be forced to fake ignorance? Would all that hard-gained information be worthless in the face of more secrets and shadows?

_You're doing it again. Breathe._

Okay. Qualified nurse, worked with the Red Cross. Previously stationed in London? Yes, London would be the least complicated; she might have seen some of the horrors of war _and_ gone through some basic training after moving to the army. Good. Perhaps she wouldn't be rendered utterly useless after all. _Try not to outshoot them all, Miss Fairfax_, strategic services had told her; that might get interesting if it ever came to rifle practice. _Oh well._ First lieutenant, just turned twenty-three (_how many birthdays have I missed recently?_) and that was all she needed to know - all anyone needed to know - according to command. As for the rest of it, keep it simple, keep your distance, and draw on your own background as much as possible.

_But I can't! There is no background left to draw on-I'm not her anymore. Little Nell Fairax with the silk dresses and blushing cheeks is long gone, gone like all the others-_

She groaned quietly, registering that she had just moved in a perfect circle and was back to where she had started.

Giving up on trying to quiet her turbulent thoughts, Eleanor looked out across the rolling hills surrounding her and recalled her final destination was supposedly to be found in the local manor house. Nearly every parish in the south of England had one and more than a few had been commandeered by the army or RAF; it seemed that Aldbourne was no exception. It wasn't too hard to spot the tall, white-windowed house on the outskirts of the village, nor was the temporary base that had been erected around it. If she had thought the Yanks' presence had been glaringly obvious in London, it was nothing in comparison to this.

_Yankee Doodle came to London just to ride the ponies..._

It was a relief the Americans had joined the war; truly, it was. They had brought literal - and much needed - boatloads of men and material with them and continued to bring in more on an almost daily basis. While the European allies might never admit it the Yanks' involvement could very well end up tipping the scales in their favor, and for that at least Eleanor was grateful. Yet besides relief and gratitude, there was also pity; pity for those young, bright men who knew nothing of conflict and would be dropped right into the middle of one regardless. Their blood would saturate the soil of lands that weren't their own, and she did not envy them for it.

_Them._ Looking down at her new olive drab uniform, Eleanor supposed she would have to stop referring to them as such and start thinking of them as 'us' instead. The army jeep that was her ride into town still felt foreign to her, the garrison cap perched on her head the slightest bit different from the ones she had worn before, but she would grow accustomed to them as she had grown accustomed to things in the past. An increased level of adaptability was one of the few perks of having moved around a lot when she'd been younger, not to mention a decided advantage when getting used to wholly new names and identities. _I've done this before, I can do it again._

At any rate there simply wasn't time left to fret, not once the driver drew the car to a halt in front of the old house and turned to her expectantly. Keeping her expression carefully blank and pleasant, Eleanor nodded at him curtly before slinging the utility bag that held what little possessions she had over her shoulder and jumping out of the vehicle. Gravel crunched underneath her feet the moment she hit the ground; wherever she looked there were men in khaki, trousers bloused over their boots in a fashion distinct from any other outfit she'd seen. _Paratroopers. Meanest, toughest sons of bitches in the entire army. _She allowed herself to smile. _Or so they say, anyway._

Most of the men she could see were officers, and the majority of them were unable to hide their looks of surprise at seeing a woman in uniform staring up undauntedly at their regimental headquarters. Well-aware of their gawking, Eleanor realized she must be somewhat of a rare sight around these parts. Enlisted women were common enough in London, but she had spotted only a few Land Army girls around Aldbourne and no other female uniforms besides. For all of the horrors of her own job she did not envy them theirs, if only because their livery was so thoroughly ghastly. In comparison to their long woolen socks and mackintoshes, her skirt and jacket were utterly flattering-and that had to be saying something.

"Lieutenant Fairfax?"

She turned around at the sound of her name, noticing a stern looking man observing her from a distance. A quick inventory of his various insignia informed her he was a captain with the 101st's medical detachment, and if the frown on his face was any indication he wasn't too pleased with her presence on the base at all. Unconsciously defiant - did the idiot even know the kind of things she'd done? - she straightened out to her not inconsiderable height, squaring her shoulders and saluting him smartly. _Palm tilted downward, not outward; remember, you're a Yank now._

"Yes, sir."

"Captain Scott, 326the medical," he told her unceremoniously, returning the salute but not bothering to hold out his hand for her to shake. _Well, hi-de-ho to you too._ Suppressing the sudden, childish urge to pull a face at his disagreeable greeting, she relaxed her stance and inclined her head.

"Pleasure to meet you, sir," she said dutifully. She'd be damned if they would find anything in her behavior to hold against her; she had faced far worse than one ill-tempered captain, no matter how dubiously he might squint at her.

"I'm sure. Come with me."

Readjusting her bag, she followed him down the winding hallway and up to the fine stairs of the manor-turned-military-headquarters. There were more stares and whispers from the men nearby, but Eleanor kept her head up and hands clasped and moved past them like a graceful, untouchable apparition. She could not help but be grateful that she did not recognize the old family crests on the walls and that whoever had previously owned the house seemed to have moved out; running into old acquaintances would be particularly awkward now. Once upstairs they were greeted by a nervous young private who showed them into a spacious antechamber and told them to wait while he knocked on an adjoining office door.

"Captain Scott to see you, sir."

"Come in, Captain," came the response, and Scott motioned Eleanor along as he marched inside. Stepping in after him, her eyes were immediately drawn to the grand windows overlooking the front yard and the man sitting in front of them. Bent over the desk and shuffling stacks of papers, she could only assume this was Colonel Sink, the regimental CO and every bit the distinguished officer if his looks and insignia were to be believed. He was a gentleman just past the prime of his life with heavy set features, a thin mustache, and a bristled brow over clear blue eyes; she didn't doubt for a second he probably intimated quite a few of his men. The triad of pictures on his desk told her he was a family man, however, and for all his stern expressions she knew he had a reputation for being a fair leader.

"Close the door, Lorraine," he told his assistant briskly, a distinctive twang to his deep voice. Both his guests snapped to attention sharply.

"Sir."

The colonel, focus shifting to the younger officers at last, nodded at them magnanimously. "At ease." Like Captain Scott before him, he studied the newcomer closely when she lowered her arm. The lieutenant was staring ahead respectfully, back ramrod straight, her uniform crisp, her stance terse. On first impression at least she appeared to be an exemplary officer, but Sink wasn't convinced yet. She was, for a woman especially, unexpectedly hard to read.

"Sir, this is Lieutenant Fairfax, just in from London," Scott introduced her, stepping back slightly. She remained impassive even as the CO acknowledged her, waiting for him to make the first move.

"Well, lieutenant," he began, "It's not every day I get a letter from the office of strategic services."

"No sir."

"From what I understand you are to pick a bunch of nurses and turn them into spooks. Is that correct?"

Eleanor considered his statement for a moment and chose her words carefully. "In a manner of speaking, yes, sir." It was true that her real purpose in Aldbourne was to select the most promising of the new ANC recruits and train them to work for the OSS, but cryptography and wireless operation 101 did not an operative make. Still, if they agreed to clandestine work life would certainly turn out different for them than what most - some of them fresh out of training - were currently expecting it to be.

_We'll need all hands on deck for the coming invasion._

"I see," the colonel said, "And do these nurses know about this?"

Well, there would only be a lucky few who got to play spy with her anyway, but- "No sir. Not yet."

Sink leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers together, his entire demeanor screaming 'unconvinced'. "Right, they believe they're joining the only ANC unit within the whole of the 101st Airborne, which," he nodded at Scott, "has been created despite the fact that we already _have_ a perfectly capable medical outfit."

_Don't take the bait. Don't take the bait. For the love of everything holy, don't-_

"Sir-"

_Ah, damn it. _

He raised his hand, effectively silencing her. "You obviously have some friends in high places, girl. Stationing an entire unit of unmarried women with a regiment preparing for the biggest action in the history of warfare-" he broke off, huffing an annoyed sigh. "I cannot permit distractions to the discipline around here, lieutenant."

Eleanor grit her teeth silently. The blatant chagrin over her assignment to his regiment she could understand and tolerate, but his belittling way of address and his presumption that she would not be able to maintain order amongst her own unit vexed her deeply. Nevertheless, outwardly, she was the very picture of deferential compliance. "I understand, sir."

He narrowed his eyes at her. Scrutinizing. Judging. She let him, refusing to give him the gratification of seeing her flinch. "I hope you do," he said eventually, and if that wasn't a warning she didn't know what was. "You'll be under Captain Scott's supervision, at least for now."

"Yes sir." She paused briefly, wondering just how much of her old records had been incorporated into her 201 file-and just how much Sink knew about her regardless of either piece of documentation. Obviously he was aware that she was OSS, but the organization hadn't earned its 'oh so social' nickname by accident. If his earlier quip was anything to go on he probably _had_ assumed she was some upperclass Yank with a decent education who happened to know the right people; if that was the case and she really did seem like no more than a little girl passing herself off as an agent to him, it was no wonder he was so hesitant about taking her on. He had absolutely no idea she had seen more of war than he had.

_Yankee yuppie it is, then._

In a way his lack of information and suppositions were good news for her. Though she struggled with three years worth of intel being rendered all but futile in the blink of an eye, this whole mission was her own personal brand of witness protection and taking on the social circumstances people expected of her made life an awful lot easier. It was an unusual method for putting together a cover story, but one she might just be able to work with. The less people knew about the last few years of her life the better; indeed, she was beginning to think allowing her to transfer to strategic services and assigning her to train frontline nurses-cum-operatives was perhaps the cleverest idea Allied intelligence had had in a long while. _Huzzah for dual citizenship._

Even so, she could not help but inquire a little further. "Sir, may I ask who else is to know about my real purpose here?"

His answer was startlingly straightforward. "No one."

Scott's eyebrows, meanwhile, seemed to disappear into his hairline. "Sir?"

"I've been ordered to keep that information on a strict need-to-know basis," Sink explained, more than a little grudgingly, "The moment the Germans catch wind of it, those girls might as well have a goddamn bullseye on their backs."

That seemed to satisfy Scott, or at least he could see the wisdom in it even if he wasn't entirely convinced that having a group of young women near the front would in any way be useful. _You wait and see, _Eleanor thought, vehemence mixing with smug anticipation, _you'd be surprised how much use we can be._

Sink, by now, was ready to call the meeting to an end. "Any more questions? No? Good-"

"Actually, sir," Eleanor piped up, inwardly amused when the men bristled at her interruption, "I was wondering if you would permit me to use the shooting range from time to time."

Both men looked at her as though she'd just asked them for the whole of the Allied invasion plans. "The hell would you want with the shooting range?" Sink asked, not even bothering to hide his astonishment. Eleanor, batting her eyelashes innocently, answered him honestly.

"Target practice, sir."

The colonel shook his head abruptly. "Denied."

Her hands tightened where they were clasped behind her back and pressed against the outline of her weapon. Having just found a happy medium of information and ignorance, she _really_ didn't want to have to explain matters to him further-let alone reveal to him that she had a silencer stashed somewhere in the depths of her bag, a useful sort of tool if he felt it necessary to hide her firearm proficiency from the men. Luckily, and to her relief, his refusal was based on different grounds than she had initially thought.

"Command's insisting all nurses receive some level of basic training. I'm sure you can wait until then." He looked at her expectantly, seeming to dare her to contradict him. She knew better than to do so and wisely kept her mouth shut.

"All right, dismissed, both of you."

The two junior officers both made their obeisances, turning to leave when they were swiftly returned. As they were heading out the door Sink beckoned one of them back. "Oh, lieutenant?"

Eleanor halted and turned around, only the slightest bit confused by his recall. "Yes sir?"

"You _are _a qualified nurse, aren't you?"

She couldn't help but smile then, hoping the sarcasm she felt didn't show too much in the quirk of her lips. "Yes, sir."

* * *

All in all the meeting had not gone too badly; it certainly could have gone a lot worse. While it had exasperated Eleanor to no end, the men's wariness of her was unsurprising given how little they knew about her and how potentially intrusive several dozen women might prove to an entire regiment of oversexed, underpaid and horrendously bored GIs. She supposed she would have to get used to it; the first weeks at least would in all likelihood be spend balancing disdain from the officers and overexcitement from the enlisted men. She would have to win respect and gain trust all over again-she only wished she didn't have to.

In truth her temper wasn't what it used to be, though she would never admit to that. The Eleanor of old would have smiled placidly and moved on, confident that things would right themselves with time even if she was inwardly disappointed by them, but today's Eleanor - the assumed Yankee yuppie with the adopted accent - would need a little more time to smooth down her ruffled feathers again. _I'm a bloody officer, special ops at that, and even if I had just been one of Donovan's girls my training should have warranted more respect than I've been shown thus far._

Sighing, she bent her head to scratch the back of her head distractedly, turning a corner and promptly running into the solid - if smaller - form of another human being. "Ow!" she exclaimed, eyes shooting up as she sprung backwards, "Watch where you're going!"

"Yeah, how about you-"

The man who had bumped into her suddenly seemed to realize that she was, in fact, a woman. "Oh! I'm sorry, ma'am, I didn't see you there."

Eleanor looked him over swiftly. He might as well be a leprechaun, for all intents and purposes, diminutive height and wide, dimpled, gap-toothed grin included. Once upon a blue moon she might have found the dancing eyes and unruly curls appealing - _Peter had eyes like that, _she remembered, the nasty thought stifled as quickly as it had popped up - but right then and there she was mainly irritated at the sight of them.

"Obviously," she grumbled, "Excuse me." Pushing past him, she shook her head wearily. Her mind was still working overtime and she was beyond ready to head to her barracks and settle in-preferably in peace and quiet, if such a thing might be possible.

It wasn't. "Hey, now, wait up!" the man cried after her, jogging to catch up, "What's a girl like you doing in a place like this, huh?"

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "I thought the uniform kind of gave it away."

"I wasn't aware we even have an ANC unit," he retorted, giving her an unabashed once over. They had come to the main billet area by now and Eleanor could see various platoons working on their calisthenics in-between the buildings, doing jumping jacks and push ups and egging each other on.

"You will as of tomorrow," she remarked, gaze lingering briefly on the men at work as she scanned the nearby buildings for the quarters she'd been designated with. "I'm setting it up."

The leprechaun shot her a look. "Huh. No kidding." He had the decency to sound impressed. "You got a name, beautiful?"

_Again with the diminutives. _"First lieutenant Eleanor Fairfax."

It took her by surprise when he held out his hand and waited for her to take it. A little bemused, she felt the corner of her mouth tug up when she reached back and shook it.

"Second lieutenant Harry Welsh," he introduced himself, "Pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," she said, and meant it for the first time that day. This guy wasn't so bad; hell, she might even get along with him. Despite his sincerity he was frowning at her while he rushed to keep up with her longer strides.

"Christ, are all of you nurses this tense? Because I gotta tell ya, the prospect of a whole platoon of single dames coming in suddenly seems a whole lot less appealing."

"I'm sorry, it's been a long day," she apologized, halting so she could talk to him properly. Her new acquaintance checked his watch before announcing that it was only eleven in the morning, his conclusion that it was a little early for it to be a bad day already remaining unspoken but nonetheless apparent. Eleanor was unfazed.

"So?"

He threw his hands up as if in defense and she found that his grin was entirely too infectious for her not to return it. "What's your unit, then?" she asked, crossing her arms and letting herself relax a little. Welsh searched their surroundings for a second before pointing out a group of men not far from where they were standing.

"Easy Company, second battalion. That's them over there."

Eleanor watched the company he had indicated thoughtfully, raising her hand to shield her eyes from the bright midday sun. Even from a distance they seemed like a well trained group, each of them lean and fit and generally in good shape; more than that, there was a certain air of pride and fluidity to heir movements which she was starting to suspect was a hallmark of all US paratroopers._ Airborne through and through, and pity those they come upon who are not._

"They look like an eager bunch," she observed casually to Welsh, whose constant grin became just the slightest bit pleased at her praise.

"That's one way of putting it." Checking his watch again, he groused to himself quietly until he noticed the inquisitive look directed at him. "I gotta go," he said, sounding genuinely contrite but brightening like quicksilver when an idea struck him, "Listen, what'd you say to a drink at the local tonight?"

_That was fast. _She hesitated. "I really shouldn't, I've got an early start tomorrow-" _and really cannot afford to get close to people, not again, no more-_

"Oh, come on, it'll be fun!" Welsh encouraged, the compelling enthusiasm back in full force, "Gotta bite the bullet sooner or later, right?"

_That's one way of putting it, indeed. _She bit her lip. How long had it been since she had just enjoyed a night out, an evening of pleasant company and perhaps a drink or two to match? Longer than she cared to recall, that much was certain, and part of her longed for simple civilized conversation without having to worry about ulterior motives or being overheard. A little bit of normalcy wouldn't be so bad, would it?

"Yeah," she said slowly, though her mind continued to scream no, "All right, yeah. Why not."

"Great!" Welsh exclaimed, clapping her on the arm, "I'll pick you up from your barracks at eight." She couldn't even be bothered to ask him how he would know where she was staying, a small smile lingering on her face as she watched him run off.

"It's a date."


	3. Show Me The Way To Go Home

**Disclaimer: this story is based chiefly on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.**

* * *

C'était un jour de fête, j' crois bien qu' c'était l' printemps...

_The sound of a woman's voice, raw and powerful, had echoed through the vast gilded doors even before they had opened to reveal the splendid hall of marble floors and high, mirror-clad walls within. Eleanor - or Eléonore, as she had been known back then - had had little time to marvel at the magnificence of the revels as her handler, looking every inch the wealthy Frenchman, had taken her by the hand and led her into the masses._

_"Remember," he had hissed at her, sotto voce, "It is vital you get close to him tonight."_

_She had nodded faintly, feeling rather apprehensive at the prospect of having to seduce a known nazi sympathiser, but had forced herself to smile when she had been steered towards a group of the more prominent guests. Her target - a really rather ordinary looking man had it not been for the company he kept - had looked suitably enchanted when he had kissed her hand and she and she had gazed up at him, alluringly and just a little faux-shy, through her lashes._

_Her instructors had once told her that all but a few men could be seduced when one knew how to push the right buttons. She had never expected it to be this desperately easy._

_Her colleague had shot her a reassuring look as she had been swept into a waltz. The dance, at least, had been effortless for her, the familiar steps coming back to her like old friends. One-two-three, turn-two-three... she had lost count of how many times she had gone through them in the past._

_Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she had been briefly amazed at the sight that had met her eyes. She'd had some stunning gowns in the past, but the red silk number had been a vision of elegance and affluence-not to mention tantalizing glimpses of her skin. Her cheeks had been aglow with the warmth of the dancehall, hair done up and lipstick perfectly matched to the shade of her dress; gone was the darling girl from London, in her place a modern-day Mata Hari from Paris that she had not recognized._

_How times had changed._

* * *

Eleanor blinked, the woman staring back at her from the polished surface of the looking gloss mimicking the movement eerily. She took a moment to study the reflection: the features were the same as ever, the flicker of recognition still there, but she was thinner and more worn-looking than she remembered from years past, soft lines replaced with harsher angles. Her eyes, too, were dimmer than they had been before and her hair lacked the gloss of the carefully coiffed curls she'd grown accustomed to before the war. _Not that this awful lighting is doing me any favors, mind..._

Smiling at herself a little sadly, seeing skin stretch over prominent cheekbones and pinching it to draw out some color, she reached for the lipstick on the edge of the sink. The cap came off with a soft _pop_ and she twisted the stick out, smoothing a veneer of the stuff over her lips. It was a darker, more subtle shade than the fire-engine red she had worn in Paris, but she decided the change in pigment was oddly appropriate. Now was not the time for flamboyance; those days had gone. The down-to-earth, almost practical color donated to her by one of the girls at the London office was exactly what she needed. Putting her cosmetics away she smoothed out a largely imaginary wrinkle from the navy blue rayon of her dress. Though she was well aware that she should technically be in her off-duty uniform rather than civilian garb, she hadn't been issued one yet and had felt rather rebellious whilst getting dressed at that. Sure, she could have fallen back on her regular service uniform, but it was her last night of relative freedom and she intended to make the most out of it. If the cold reception from her superiors earlier that day had only added to her defiance, well-so be it.

Yet part of her could not help but feel uneasy about the upcoming outing; indeed, she was starting to regret having ever agreed to going to the pub at all. It was true that she had liked Lieutenant Welsh and his charming ways well enough, but she had sworn to herself that she would be cautious. There had been too much grief already, too much pain; she wasn't sure if she could bear going through the torment of losing people she cared about again, but then neither did she think she could have gone back to civilian life after she'd returned from Normandy. Instead she had gone out on this new mission under the strict, self-enforced rule of discretion and professional distance-a rule she feared she was already starting to neglect.

She tried to convince herself that heading out with the fellas would be a good thing. It fitted with who she was, who she was _supposed_ to be; hell, staying in would probably have made them suspicious and misgivings after a single day would have had to have been some kind of new record, even for her. Besides, it wouldn't do to just cancel, and what damage could one evening possibly do?

She straightened out, checking herself over in the mirror one last time before striding over to grab her coat from its peg and shrug into it without further ado. It was eight o'clock on the dot when she pushed the front door open, the portal creaking and groaning against her shoulder despite being brand new and barely used. Outside, Harry Welsh was already leaning against the side of the building, a cigarette dangling idly from his mouth. "Evening, lieutenant," she greeted him, heels clicking on the steps when he turned around, grin at the ready when he acknowledged her. Catching a glimpse of her dress, his smirk grew decidedly cheeky.

"That ain't no army issue dress," he remarked, and she rolled her eyes at him impatiently.

_Hey, it's your own fault,_ she reminded herself, contemplating the man's amused expression as he flicked ash from his fingers, _you're already breaking regulations-not to mention your own rules._

"What are you going to do, report me?" she retorted, shooting him a look, satisfied to see his grin broaden conspiratorially not long after. _May as well do it right and have some fun._

Welsh chortled. "Maybe."

"Aw, it's my last night of freedom," she complained, pouting for effect, "Be nice."

"Nice?" he laughed, holding out his arm to her, "I'll show you nice. Come on."

Lieutenant Harry Welsh turned out to be the talkative type, not that Eleanor hadn't guessed as much by then or particularly minded it. He made for entertaining company and she was able to steer the conversation clear of herself without too much effort once she'd realized the easiest way to distract him was to ask about his fiancee back home. The way his whole demeanor softened when he spoke about the (by his admittedly biased account) beautiful Kitty Grogan made Eleanor hope - wish, pray, _beg_ - that he would make it through the war and be able to return to her. If there was any justice left in the world young Miss Grogan would get her day as an army bride.

Their conversation shifted comfortably from his sweetheart to his roots in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, and his time spent with the already renowned Easy Company. The fifth company of the 506th sounded like one hell of a unit even to Eleanor, whose once easily awoken sense of admiration was now hard to kindle at all. She'd heard so many tales of heroics and _esprit de corps _already - war, in all truth, had a way of bringing out the best as well as the worst in people - yet couldn't help but be fascinated by Welsh's stories of his men's camaraderie and everything they had gone through together thus far. It was something she knew they would fall back on once they got into combat and it might just increase their chances of survival.

_If only by a little._

She ignored the thought, smiling at the fondness and obvious affection in her companion's voice as he recounted evocative tales of the company's bumbling commanding officer and their intensive jump training. Even though Welsh had not been with them from the beginning, it was clear that he cared for the men a great deal and she couldn't help but feel envious of their close-knit attachment to each other. _Who do I have left that I could count on like that?_

By the time the two lieutenants walked into town Welsh was regaling her with an anecdote about how their inept CO had screwed up especially terribly during one of their last training exercises on US soil. "So he marches them out, right, and _bam_-" he made a chopping motion to emphasize his point, "They run straight into the waiting ambush like mice into a trap." She chuckled, the sensation of it strange to her senses as she breathed a disbelieving "No!".

Welsh nodded emphatically. "Yes! The man's jumpier than a jumping jack."

Eleanor hummed in amusement, aware that he was probably breaking a good number of rules and regulations by recounting this story to her. "Should you be telling me this?" she asked, tilting her head to look at him and noting the glint in his eyes - amusement, deviousness, she couldn't quite tell - when he shrugged.

"Eh, I trust you not to mouth off to the men about it." He steered her towards the pub, the buzz from inside already reaching their ears from several feet away, and led her towards the entrance.

"You're awfully quick to trust me," she commented, undoing the buttons of her coat single-handedly, fingers fumbling with the studs a little. At her side, Welsh wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"I'm a good judge of character."

"I bet you are," she teased, unhooking her arm from his as he ushered her inside. The first thing to hit her was the dense ambience of smoke and stale beer, mixed in with the faint purr of a gramophone in a distant corner of the establishment. The entire room was stuffed to the brim with laughing, talking and socializing soldiers; had it been any other time of day she would never have guessed this many of them would fit into such a small space. Everywhere she looked she saw off-duty uniforms and spit-polished jumpboots, interspersed only with a few of the local girls wearing their best dresses and showing off the latest fashion in hairstyles. Dressed to the nines as they all were, Eleanor felt awkward and ungainly - not to mention impossibly old, which was a bizarre enough sensation in itself - in comparison. It was not without a touch of wistfulness that she recalled her silk dresses and lavish jewelry from days gone by; what she wouldn't give for a Schiaparelli or Vionnet now...

Shaking her head, she reminded herself that those beautiful items had come at a steep price over the past few years and resolutely cleared her mind of such thoughts and frivolities. _Focus on the present. What's done is done._

"Swell atmosphere," she observed drily as she turned to Welsh, recognizing a few faces she had seen around the base earlier that day.

"Isn't it?" he agreed, placing a hand on the small of her back to guide her in the general direction of the bar. "What's your poison?" he asked, having to raise his voice to make himself heard over the din of the rambunctious paratroopers surrounding them. She considered it for a moment before settling on a fairly fail-safe option.

"Rum and coke?"

He nodded. "Done. Go find us a table, I'll be right back." With that he disappeared into the crowd gathered around the counter, leaving her to despair at the odds of ever finding a free seat-let alone an entire table. Clearly it was an impossible task. A large part of the men were already standing as it was, and while she could coax a fella into giving her his seat and Welsh - being an officer - would no doubt be able to commandeer a chair, she was reasonably certain the chances of finding anything actually vacant were rather slim. So slim, in fact, that she was seriously contemplating climbing on a stool to get a better view when a gruff voice spoke up beside her unexpectedly.

"Hey there, pretty lady, what's your name?" Spinning to see the man the voice belonged to, she came face to face with warm dark eyes set in an attractive face. The hooked nose and spiky black hair seemed familiar; it occurred to her that he might be one of Welsh's company.

"I'm Eleanor," she said, corner of her mouth tugging up when she saw his expression shift to shock. She had entirely anticipated some attention from the men, but it was obvious this trooper had not at _all_ expected to find a Yankee girl anywhere on the British isles.

"Fuck, you're American?" he blurted, failing to hide a wince when he realized he'd just sworn in front of what seemed to be a perfectly nice girl.

"Full marks on the observation skills there, Sherlock," Eleanor chuckled, eyes crinkling when he smiled back at her abashedly.

"The hell-" he broke off, shaking his head and correcting himself quickly, "Sorry, what on _earth_ are you doing here?" Before she had a chance to reply two of his friends barged into the conversation and abruptly demanded her attention. One was stocky and strong-jawed, the other a bit slighter with flaming red hair. It was the brawny one who spoke up first.

"Hey, Joe, ain't you gonna introduce us to your friend here?"

Eleanor could have sworn all of those dozen or so words had come solely from the side of his mouth; the man seemed to sport a perpetual half-smirk through which he spoke in a strong south Philly accent. The trooper who had initially approached her - Joe, as it turned out - nodded thoughtfully.

"Yeah. Bill, Malark, this is Eleanor, and she's American." The girl in question wondered briefly if she would be known simply as 'the American girl' from this point on or if the arrival of the other nurses might go some way in quelling the use of that particular nickname. _To be fair, I've certainly been called worse._

"No kidding!" the redhead exclaimed, shaking her hand happily. She shook her head.

"Nope. Born and bred."

"Well, Eleanor the American," the Philadelphian - she assumed he was Bill by the way Joe had looked at him when he mentioned the name - said, "Can I call you Ellie? Great. How's about we get you a drink, huh?"

She smiled sweetly, deep down flattered by their attentions but able to play it off as demure politeness, and shifted her coat in her arms. "Thanks, fellas, but someone's already getting me one."

"That so? And who might that lucky bastard be?"

"Corporal Toye."

All three of the men straightened out in an instant when Harry Welsh came back into view, hat folded into his belt and balancing a set of drinks. He looked more serious than Eleanor had seen him in what little time they'd known each other, but she could still detect the mischievous undertone in the stern gaze he was currently leveling at his men. A grin blossomed on her face before she could bite it back.

"Lieutenant Welsh, sir!"

Welsh, for all his unimpressive height, glowered at the trio encircling the nurse. "You harassing the lieutenant, corporal?" Barely fighting down a burst of laughter, Eleanor lowered her gaze and pursed her lips when Malark mouthed a silent and dismayed "_Lieutenant_?" at Bill, who seemed to be paling rapidly at the revelation of her rank. Joe, meanwhile, was looking at her with wide eyes.

"No, sir."

"Sir, we had no idea-" Bill stammered, something she did not believe he did very often, and suddenly she felt bad for not presenting herself properly. _You wanted them to like you. So much for no fraternization._

"Let me introduce you then," Welsh suggested, beckoning her over with a nod of his head, "Gentlemen, meet Lieutenant Eleanor Fairfax, chief nurse of our new ANC unit."

She smiled, giving a bashful little wave. "Hi."

"Ma'am, we're so sorry-" Malark began, visibly mortified, but she was quick to put him at ease.

"It's all right, private. No harm done."

Welsh raised an eyebrow at them. "You're lucky she's the forgiving kind, all of you. Dismissed." The three men snapped to attention before turning away, Joe looking back at her over his shoulder with a faint smile. Eleanor returned it, hearing Bill mutter "Did he just say ANC _unit_?" before Welsh guided her towards what she presumed would be a place for them to sit.

"Come on, we'll join the rest of the officers," he said, wading through the masses of men ahead of her and greeting acquaintances left and right as he went. Once again she was the recipient of more than a few explicit leers and looks of unbridled shock, but she paid them little heed; it was remarkable how quickly she found herself getting used to them.

"That was just the _slightest_ bit cruel, you know," she told Welsh, resisting the urge to grab onto the back of his jacket to avoid getting lost. There really were an awful lot of people in the bar that night.

The second lieutenant shrugged. "They'll live. 'Sides, you'll have plenty of chances to flirt with the enlisted men." They came to a relatively small table hidden away in a crevice of the building and Eleanor, coming up behind Welsh, soon noticed the two men already seated around it. Both looked up from their conversation when their friend approached them and stepped aside to present her.

"Gents, this is Lieutenant Fairfax from the nursing corps." The pair rose, instantaneously towering over Welsh, and held out their hands to her.

"Lewis Nixon," the lieutenant with the prominent brows and intelligent brown eyes said, turning her hand when he took a hold of it and kissing her knuckles smoothly. "_Enchante._"

_Why, hello, _she thought, a little bemused, _didn't see that one coming._ For an American his pronunciation of the French was pretty damn good. Based on appearance, accent and mannerisms - that move had been habitual, not just a frisky attempt at flattery - it did not take her long to deduce that this darkly handsome fellow probably came from money or (and?) had travelled a fair bit besides. _Takes one to know one, I guess. _She was intrigued but refused to let it show, turning to his companion after making a small show of blushing and tittering a reply in English.__

"Hey-Clarence Hester," the other officer said, and what he lacked in charm and suave moves he was already making up for in kindness. She noticed the captain's bars on his collar and, as of yet unsure whether he would let protocol slide, chose to err on the side of caution and address him properly.

"A pleasure, sir."

"Please, it's Clarence," he said easily, motioning for her to sit and frowning when he realized he had never gotten her first name. "I'm sorry, what was your name?" She smiled, draping her coat around the chair that had been pulled back for her before settling down and letting him push it closer to the table. Maybe this wasn't so dreadful after all. She would have to work with these people one way or the other, so there really was no harm in getting to know them at least a little. _Right_?

"Eleanor," she told him, looking up at Welsh gratefully as he set her drink down in front of her, "Thank you."

Across the table Nixon leaned in towards her, hand wrapped possessively around a glass of what appeared to be whisky. There was a strange intimacy to the way he sipped it from time to time, and yet he didn't seem to be holding back or savoring the liquor as one might expect. His eyes, when they met hers, were candidly inquisitive. "So," he began, "Am I right in thinking we are the only regiment in the division to be graced with an ANC unit?"

As much as she would have loved to have answered him with something snappy along the lines of _gee whiz, you wish,_ it was true, and a detail she would in all likelihood stumble over more than a few times in the future. _How to spin this..._

"Well, technically, we've been assigned to the entire division," she said, keeping her gaze steady, "We just happen to be stationed with the 506th." In essence it was correct; as a detachment of the 326th medical unit they _were _in fact assigned to the entire division, and those of the girls who wouldn't get selected to work as operatives would hopefully blend in seamlessly with the rest of the medics working at its evacuation hospitals. As for being stuck with the 506th, it really had been a mostly random happenstance, although she suspected it might have also had something to do with General Taylor's confidence in the regiment.

Not that she would tell any of these men that.

"Lucky us!" Welsh grinned, winking at Eleanor amiably as the captain beside her raised his glass in a toast.

"Cheers to that."

She clinked her long drink against his pint, taking a sip and feeling the alcohol slip and burn along the back of her throat. Nixon was still watching her closely, as though he were trying to see through her just to get a read on her; she returned his gaze boldly, only looking away when Hester asked what had brought her to England.

"The same as you, I'd imagine," she said, intentionally ambiguous. The captain wasn't about to relent, however, though his interest seemed borne more from friendly politeness than anything else.

"Oh? And what is that?" The smile she directed at him, though small, was nothing short of coy.

"Why, a chance to prove that we are the very best there is, of course."

Welsh and Hester laughed, pleasantly surprised by her raillery, but all she got out of Nixon was a lopsided grin. She narrowed her eyes briefly, now as hell-bent on scrutinizing and deciphering him as he seemed to be on doing to her, and ran a finger over the rim of her glass. "Patriotism and the call of duty," she elaborated blandly, sliding her hand down around the cool tumbler and smiling slyly when she noticed that Nixon's dark eyes had followed the movement involuntarily. _Gotcha. _"What else?"

Nixon cleared his throat. "I rather think there's more to it," he challenged, reclining against the back of his chair. Two could play at this game, it seemed, and Eleanor didn't miss the look that passed between the other officers at their table. "Girl like you, you could have chosen any kind of life." He downed his drink triumphantly when she paused for the briefest of moments, seeming hesitant.

_If only you knew, _she thought mildly, disinterested in his assumed victory but too engrossed in the banter for her mind to wander off as it so often did. A slow smile spread across her face and she gulped down her own drink. "A girl like me, huh?" she asked, setting down the glass and crossing her arms on the edge of the table, "What about a guy like you? What's that accent, Jersey with a hint of Ivy League?"

That tripped him up. _Strike three, and you're out! _Hester smacked Nixon on the arm jovially while Welsh grinned at Eleanor. "I knew I liked you for a reason."

Gaze darting from Welsh's beaming smile to Hester's good-natured amusement and finally meeting Nixon's engrossed eyes, Eleanor nodded wordlessly.

_I think I like you, too._


	4. Abide With Me

**Disclaimer: this story is based chiefly on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.**

* * *

_Long ago, before the war had started and everything had changed, the subject of French victories had been something of a running gag between Eleanor and her London friends. 'What French victories?' they would joke, largely erroneously yet never too bothered by it, 'There is no such thing. The only outcome to a fight the frogs know is defeat.'_

_When Germany had overrun the continent the laughter had ceased. Hundreds of men had been ferried across the channel to fight on lands that already held so many of their countrymen's remains and France's suffering was no longer amusing to the ones who had been left behind. The whole city had been permeated with a strained sense of anticipation as its inhabitants waited, anxiously, for news of their loved ones abroad._

_Eleanor had first realized that something was wrong with the British Expedition Force when the war-time media machine that was the BBC had begun to drop in offhanded references about 'strategic withdrawals' in their daily reports. The nurses and orderlies of the Royal Free Hospital had paid it little heed for the most part, their faith in their government immutable, but there had been whispers and mumblings amongst the doctors - especially the older ones - that had made her feel uneasy. Regardless, life had carried on much as it had before then: the same routines, the same long days and sore feet by the end of them. It wasn't until the sudden frenzy of late May that anyone could even begin to grasp how badly things were going for the British army._

_The first wave of casualties coming in from Dunkirk had been harrowing. Eleanor had never seen so much blood and gore and sheer wretchedness at once, and it had taken all of her fortitude not to break down right in the middle of the madness. Wherever she had gone there had been men crying for their mothers, grasping at her sleeves in desperate pleas for help and comfort, their eyes too white and too wide and their innocence lost forever. The stains on her lab coat had been so severe she had thrown it out rather than attempt to wash it._

_By the end of that awful day the chairman of the hospital had told his assembled staff that they were to expect more of the same very soon. He had requested they all continue to perform as admirably as they'd done over the past twenty-four hours; a backhanded compliment if ever there was one, perhaps, but the British did not do sentimentality-even, or perhaps especially, in the face of acute adversity. The most they might fall back on in times like those were two age old traditions: one was tea, and the other was song._

_And so Eleanor, having changed into a clean lab coat, had wandered the darkened halls of the wards to hand out whatever tea and chocolate she'd been able to scrounge. Walking around with only the dim light of an old lamp and the pitter-patter of her own footsteps to accompany her had been somewhat surreal, but she had been glad of any little solace she could give to the men and the strange hush that had settled over the hospital had been an undeniable relief. It beat the ceaseless clamor and screams from before._

(_She had tried not to think about those soldiers who were still stuck in France or those who had not returned at all-she hadn't succeeded much at all.)_

_Not until well past midnight had she finally been able to settle down by a young private's bedside, holding his hand as he struggled to sleep. "We need to go back," he had muttered feverishly, "Miss, we've got to go back. Those poor people..." She had hushed him gently, stroking his brow in what she had hoped was a reassuring gesture. At the far end of the room someone had begun to sing quietly, other voices soon joining in as they had recognized the beloved hymn._

Abide with me, fast falls the eventide; the darkness deepens, Lord with me abide...

_Eleanor, heavy-hearted and exhausted, had squeezed the private's hand. "We'll go back," she had whispered hoarsely, "We will return." The boy had sighed, calming at last. Eleanor had closed her eyes._

_"And we will win."_

* * *

"Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day; earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass away..." Eleanor sang, cradling the blue-bound Book of Common Prayer in her equally blue-tinged hands. She had forgotten quite how cold churches could be, especially at this time of year, nor could she remember the last time she had attended a service for her own sake rather than a cover's. _Peter's wedding, probably_, she thought bitterly, hastily shifting her focus back to the melodious lilt of the choir and the peaceful faces of the congregation. This had to be the only place left within the entirety of Aldbourne that did not bear some sign of the Americans' stay. No, wait - she squinted her eyes a little to get a better look at the lone figure at the far end of the pews - never mind. Apparently nothing was sacred anymore. Though the man was quiet, respectful, his uniform stood out like a sore thumb among the crowd of civilian Sunday-best.

She looked down at the dark green of her skirt. _So does mine, to be fair. _Breathing in deeply she resumed her singing, voice mingling in with those of the others.

"Change and decay all around I see, o Thou who changest not, abide with me."

* * *

Stepping out into the churchyard after the end of the service, Eleanor closed her eyes and breathed in the damp morning air. _I could really do with some tea right now_, she thought, smiling. _Eggs Benedict. Maybe a crumpet or two with some jam. _Pulling up the collar of her coat against the unforgiving wind, she knew all too well that it was wishful thinking; all that would be waiting for her upon her return to base was the slop that passed as food around the US military. She glanced at her watch - general issue, like the rest of her - and saw she had a little while left before she would have to head back. One of the elderly locals tipped his hat at her as he passed her by, smiling when she saluted him benignly in return. Charmed by his unfailing politeness, Eleanor let her eyes follow him as he headed out towards the village green.

It was then that she noticed a rusty old gate at the side of the church and her curiosity was piqued. Deciding that she could afford to dawdle around for a spell she headed towards it, the bells still tolling overhead. She could see the cemetery through the iron lattice now that she drew closer; even in a town as small as Aldbourne there were a good deal too many fresh graves and flowers within the modest enclosure. Jaw clenching in sympathy, Eleanor unlocked the gate and strolled in, turning back to close it with a noisy squeak-only to look up again and see the soldier from the church sitting on one of the stone benches, trying and failing not to stare at her.

He wasn't classically handsome, as such, his hair a shocking shade of ginger and his small mouth barely balanced by a mildly weak chin; yet somehow, in some odd way, he was a very good looking man indeed. There was an aloof sense of dignity and something she couldn't quite put her finger on to him, like she was only seeing a projection of what he wanted her to see. It puzzled her a little. If nothing else his posture was so tense and upright she almost suspected him of having a stick up his-

She shook her head mentally. _Damn Yanks with their vulgar mouths._

"Oh!" she exclaimed, hand still on the cold iron latch, "I'm sorry, I didn't meant to disturb-"

The soldier - a lieutenant, from the look of his insignia - stood up hastily as she started to leave, halting her in her tracks. "No, no, it's all right," he assured her, the deep undertone to his smooth voice reaffirming her belief that she wasn't seeing all there was to this man, "You, uh..."

He coughed, eyes darting sideways briefly before turning towards her again. Her lips quirked up in bemusement. Was he actually _shy_? She was just a nurse, not the bloody Queen of Sheba.

"You were in the church before, weren't you?" he finished at last, hands clasped behind his back. She nodded, surprised he had noticed her at all-let alone remembered. It seemed she had not been the only one studying her surroundings.

"I was," she said, tilting her head a little as she studied him, "I didn't expect to see any of the paratroopers there."

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, smiling slightly. "Yeah. Not a lot of us go." Clear blue eyes met her own. "Dick Winters."

Holding out her hand, she noticed the faint blush rising between his freckles when he shook it swiftly. _Christ, he really is shy. _"Eleanor Fairfax," she said, tucking her hands into her sleeves with a frown, curiosity getting the better of her once more. "So why _did_ you go?"

"Honestly?" he asked, and she raised her eyebrows in a gesture that said _yes, honestly,_ "I was looking for some peace and quiet."

Well, that was fair enough. She doubted anyone could find any kind of true solitude around the base and, as far as she was aware, Sunday was the one day of the week the men had off. The church was probably the only place in a ten mile radius the lieutenant could go to without being disturbed by his colleagues. Unsure if his remark had been a veiled request for her to leave, she inclined her head towards the exit.

"If you want me to go..."

"No, please," he said, a little too quickly, "Stay."

"All right."

Silence. Eleanor bit her lip and was about to speak up to break the uncomfortable lull in conversation when he did. "I thought the ANC unit wasn't meant to arrive until later today."

"It isn't. I came early to set things up," she explained, realizing he was the first Yank besides Lewis Nixon who seemed to know why she was in town and _not_ ogle her with incredulity over it. _Interesting. I wonder how he got to be so well informed._

"You're their CO?"

_Commanding officer. _She hadn't thought of herself like that until then; she had led people in various capacities, certainly, and some of the maquis had called her _capitaine,_ but there had never really been an official title to go with her duties in France. How could there have been? She smiled, surprisingly pleased with the distinction. _I could get used to it._

"I suppose I am. What about you?"

"I'm a platoon leader in Easy Company."

_Easy again! What is it with these men?_

"I met one of your colleagues yesterday-a Harry Welsh?"

For some reason Winters' thin brows knotted at the mention of her new friend's name. "Really?" He sounded concerned, though she couldn't for the life of her fathom why he would be. She had liked Welsh, and quite a lot at that. What on earth did Winters think him capable of, bearing in mind she had only met the man the day before?

"Really," she echoed, fighting the urge to laugh out loud at his utterly undue apprehension, "Don't worry, he's charming."

Winters looked unimpressed. "That's what worries me."

_Oh, ye of little faith. Of all the things a guy can fret about..._

"You've been with your unit for a while, then?" she asked, determined to change the topic lest she get Welsh into trouble somehow. Her current company seemed like he might just be the type of person to stir it up; she was seriously reconsidering that previous notion of a stick...

"Since the regiment got formed at Toccoa, yes." Finally, she had found something that this serious lieutenant had in common with his fellow officers: an obvious devotion to his men. Something about his comment nagged at the back of her mind, however-Toccoa... she had heard that name before, half-whispered on the streets of London by some of the early arrivals from the States, always accompanied by a certain sense of reverence and awe. Hadn't there been some kind of march that the troopers stationed there had taken part in? Maybe they had broken a record or some such?

Then, suddenly, she remembered-and all of the previous night's shouts of "Currahee!" promptly made sense.

"You were one of the hard-nosed bastards they ran up that mountain?"

The look of surprise on his face told her she had guessed right. Perhaps there was some truth to the reputation the regiment worked so hard to cultivate after all.

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

She shrugged. "This is the army, Mr Jones," she quipped, "Rumors get around pretty quick."

_There's also no way we're getting into the reasons for my stay in London just yet, thank you very much._

"I had no idea the 506th was stationed in Georgia, though."

"We were." Winters looked up at the sky distractedly, noticing the looming clouds. He unfolded his hands and moved towards her. "I think there's rain coming. Let me take you back to base."

She was undeniably affronted by that. _Right, because I couldn't possibly make it back by myself!_

"That's all right," she said, just the slightest bit terse, "I'm sure you wouldn't want to spend your day off in barracks."

He very obviously didn't catch on to the undercurrent of forewarning in her voice. "No, I insist," he said, holding out his arm to her.

_Oh, for fuck's sake! _At least Welsh, for all his unnecessary gallantry, had been unassuming about escorting her home-not to mention a good deal less awkward. He had just gotten up when she did, helped her into her coat and walked back with her, wishing her a good night before heading over to his own quarters. No fuss, no overbearing patronization. The whole matter had never so much as been discussed. Winters, on the contrary, seemed intent on forcing his chivalry on her despite it being barely midday. She knew he meant well - really, she did - but his apparent assumption that she couldn't even return to the camp by herself irritated her to no end.

Around them, the birds chirped and the trees rustled. Between them, silence stretched on once again.

* * *

Eleanor never thought she would have been glad to see the bland buildings of the base, but she was. It felt like the walk back had gone on forever and her earlier annoyance had lingered throughout; overprotectiveness, she decided, was definitely not high up on her list of favorite character traits-and Lieutenant Uptight seemed to have plenty of it.

She found herself looking for a way out, for some reason to leave. It was horribly unkind of her, she knew, but she had to get away before she lost her patience altogether and snapped at him. Surely the latter would be worse. To her relief an opportunity for escape soon presented itself in the form of Lewis Nixon, sitting by himself on the steps of the officer's mess facility. "Hey! You two!" he called, rising from his seat and sauntering over. Eleanor, smiling, untangled herself from Winters' arm.

"Lieutenant," she greeted, unaware of the redhead's eyes following her as she slipped away from him, "How are you this fine morning?"

Nixon's grin was nothing short of roguish. "Better now that you're here." He turned to Winters with a nod. "Dick. How was church?"

"Fine," the taller man answered curtly, gaze lingering on their female companion, "If you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

They watched him set off, Eleanor shaking her head lightly as she leaned against one of the jeeps parked alongside the building. Nixon, coming up beside her, shot her a look as he unhooked his hip flask from his belt. "So," he said, unscrewing the cap, "I see you have met the illustrious Dick Winters."

The nurse chuckled and crossed her arms across her chest. _Illustrious. Right. _"Seems like I have." Glancing at the ornate flask in Nixon's hand, she arched an eyebrow. The smell of alcohol was incredibly pungent and entirely unmistakeable. "Isn't it a little early for that?"

Nixon smirked. "Always happy hour somewhere." He lifted the container towards her in a faint mockery of a toast. "Here's to you."

_Bit of a drinker, aren't we, _Eleanor thought, seeing him gulp down the liquid without flinching in the slightest. _His kind of background, it's got to be a family thing._

She was about to ask him about it when she noticed two trucks rumbling onto the compound, covers concealing whoever was in them even if the big red crosses painted on the sides didn't make it hard to guess. "I suppose that's my cue," she sighed, pushing herself off the hood of the jeep and giving Nixon a brief smile. "Duty calls."

"Yeah," he nodded, scrutinizing her much like he had the evening before, "Give 'em hell."

She smirked at him darkly. "You know I will," she shot back, waving absentmindedly as she wandered off in the direction of the infirmary. A shortcut through the barracks allowed her to reach it before the transport vehicles did and, as she'd anticipated, she found Captain Scott waiting for her by the entrance.

"Sir," she saluted him, steadfastly ignoring his sour expression. He returned the gesture, allowing her to ease her stance only to press a clipboard into her hands.

"These are the names and basic details of your unit," he announced, not bothering to waste any time on small talk, "Get them settled in and briefed on basic procedures. You'll start your training tomorrow."

_Gee, he couldn't have given this to me a little sooner? There's fifty-odd names on here..._

"Yes sir," she said obediently, snapping off another salute as he turned to direct the trucks to their proper places. They ground to a halt just outside the building, the drivers jumping out their seats to give the passengers a hand down. Eleanor, slowly backing up the steps, felt a pang of discomfort at the sea of fresh faces and naively excited smiles that spilled from the deuces.

_Let the work begin, then._

A little while and a lot of checked names later she was staring at those same fresh faces from the safety of a half-open door, watching them buzz around the infirmary like a chattering, giggling crowd of schoolgirls. _Good God, what have I gotten myself into. _Pulling her jacket straight she walked inside, mildly satisfied when someone - one of the older girls, a sensible looking thing with dark curls and a sharp nose - called out a ten-hut when she noticed the lieutenant's entrance. Eager eyes turned to her as they stood to attention, some a little clumsily, others more satisfactory. At least the army had had the good sense to teach them basic military etiquette.

"At ease," Eleanor called, taking her spot in front of the assembled crowd and taking a moment to survey them. They wore the same type of uniform she did, the same caps and badges, but she imagined she must look very different to them already. It was hard to imagine she had ever been this green around the ears.

"Ladies, welcome to Aldbourne. I'm your commanding officer, Lieutenant Fairfax."

Pausing briefly, she took a bracing breath and considered what to say next. The army, in all its wisdom, had at long last decided to give its nurses at least a part of the same basic training their male employees went through. Sadly that decision had come too late for these girls; while they were all qualified nurses and had no doubt been instructed in how to run a ward and sort through the vast amount of paperwork that came with the daily management of any hospital, she doubted they knew much beyond that. Getting them ready for what they would face in Europe would be a long haul, and one she had no intention of sugarcoating for them.

"I know you've all had your training," she began, hands steady around the clipboard Scott had thrust at her earlier, "But believe me when I say you're a long way from home here. Most of what you know will prove utterly useless in combat. As of tomorrow, you're starting anew."

There was a ripple of whispers through the crowd, but a quick raise of her eyebrows was all it took to silence them. She could do nothing to stop the bewildered glances most girls were exchanging with their neighbors, however, and carried on unfazed instead.

"You'll be taught how to march, how to shoot, how to dig foxholes and function under fire. You will learn how to stitch up wounds-"_ it's frankly preposterous most of you don't know how to already,_ "How to improvise tourniquets, and how to saw off a leg should the occasion call for it. You will be living and breathing drills and discipline, and under _no_ circumstances are you to disgrace this unit through any improper conduct with the men of the regiment."

Sink's warning ran through her mind all too clearly. _I cannot permit distractions to the discipline around here, lieutenant. _She wasn't about to let him be proved right. She would sooner put chastity belts on every single one of her unit than allow them to embarrass her in any way.

"I expect you back in barracks at 21:30 each day, unless specified otherwise. Lights out is at 22:00. Breakfast is served every morning at 06:00 after PT. Regulation clothing and conduct is to be observed at all times. Do I make myself clear?"

There was a hushed, collective "Yes ma'am." Most of the girls looked terrified by now and Eleanor was torn between gratification and remorse at the sight of it. She would have to be strict to get them anywhere near ready for deployment - she would not, _could_ not let them make the same mistakes she had; they had to learn - but she did not want to end up with a reputation similar to that of Easy Company's dreaded CO either. Finding the right balance would be a damn fine line to tread.

Christ, they were all so young. How on earth could they have known what they were getting themselves into-even if it was just the nursing they'd signed up for?

"Good," she nodded slowly, softening a little and allowing a small smile, "I will be your worst enemy and your best friend from this point onwards, but don't expect me to go easy on you. The Germans won't."

Suppressing a sigh, she lowered the clipboard to her side and looked at her team candidly. "This is war, ladies, and if you want to live you'll listen to what I have to say."

Some nodded. Others winced. Words of a well-known hymn echoed through the fog of her memories.

_Come not in terrors, as the King of kings,  
But kind and good, with healing in Thy wings;  
Tears for all woes, a heart for every plea-  
Come, Friend of sinners, and thus abide with me._

Eleanor Fairfax, ANC lieutenant, pondered the future in silence as her unit saluted her.

"Dismissed."


	5. Nocturne

**Disclaimer: this story is based chiefly on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.**

* * *

_When she finally made it to Scotland in the early months of 1941, Eleanor had lost track of how long she had been traveling. The landscape had been different: wilder, more rugged than the south of England, with an almost tangible sense of the untamed. Nestled amongst it had been an old country estate that the SOE's newest recruits would call home for the foreseeable future and it was not without some amusement that she had realized she knew the owners who had so generously opened it up to the Baker Street irregulars._

_Descending the bus amidst a flurry of other young men and women, the young socialite's silk-and-cotton dress had been an almost painful contrast to the masses of rayon and home spun wool. More than a few odd looks had been shot her way and had made her feel distinctly uncomfortable; she'd certainly had better starts._

_We're not in Kansas anymore, she had thought, looking around the bustling place in awe. Even then she had known she'd have to start from scratch and prove her worth; it had seemed unlikely anyone would think highly of her merely for her well-rehearsed manners or articulate French, not when the first suddenly seemed so senseless and the second was a skill most everyone possessed around the compound. The officers who had interviewed her had only given her the faintest of clues as to the kind of training she was to receive, but as she had entered the ancient hall with her suitcase in hand, she had been determined to face it with courage and a fighting spirit come what may. It was what her father would have wanted had he still been alive._

_Little had she known the journey north would prove by far the shortest in years to come._

_The training regime had not been easy on her. While her days at the hospital had been long, those in the Highlands had been substantially longer and far more exhausting at that. Friends had been few; the small number of people who had actually made the effort to talk to her had only had a little while to do so, and even then many had ended up being reprimanded for it. It had not helped that their drill sergeant seemed to have decided to make an example out of her. Although he had mocked and pushed all the cadets around she had been his favorite by far and a day had not gone by without him ridiculing her accent or imploring her to go back to her tea parties like a good little lady._

_Some days she had been sorely tempted to do just that._

_One of the things she had struggled with in particular had been weapons training: they had been expected to assemble and maintain anything that had been thrown at them, no matter what the type and regardless of their level of preservation. She had thought back to the many shoots her family had gone to when she had been younger and, for the first time in her life, had found herself wishing she'd gone with the men rather than having stayed with her mother and the other spectators. Sure, she had known all about plucking partridges and preparing them just so, but cartridges and rifles had been a mystery to her. Her fingers had felt slow and clumsy as they had fumbled with the springs, and her cheeks had burned whenever the instructor had rebuked her for it. For days it had seemed as though she would never learn and would be limited to nursing for the rest of the war._

_Yet she had always been stubborn and she had been resolved to succeed. Throughout those days she had spent the minor amount of free time she'd had practicing in solitude, fingers covered in gun grease and brows furrowed in concentration. Finally, by the time she'd lost count of how many failed attempts there'd already been, she'd had the Bren gun set up and the Enfield loaded within a matter of minutes-and well before any of the other cadets. The astounded drill sergeant had come by after she had called out a crisp "Ready, sir!" to indicate the completion of the task and, nodding slowly, had admitted that she seemed to have made some considerable progress._

_She has suppressed a smile and saluted the man smartly, thrilled that she'd gotten it right this time. It had marked the turning point; now they were getting somewhere._

_For it had not ended there: after weapons assembly there had been target practice, explosives training, wireless operation and cryptography and many other things besides that had been burned into her mind for eternity. Of course all of this had been in addition to intense physical exercise and continued education in military strategy and decorum. Who ever said the life of a spy was all glitz and glamor had obviously been mistaken._

_The months spent in Scotland had been the most strenuous and rewarding of her life, but nowhere near the most grueling or successful. They had only been the beginning._

* * *

It wasn't often that Eleanor thought back to those early days of her training in Scotland, but for some reason this morning was one of them. A fortnight had passed since she had arrived in Aldbourne and she felt like she had settled in as well as could be expected. Despite the initial shock of a whole platoon's worth of young women suddenly sharing their base with them, the men of the 506th had managed to behave themselves admirably thus far and no real incidents had occurred. As for the girls themselves, Eleanor liked them well enough, naive and giddy though some of them might be. A few were already showing potential for more and all of them were adequately respectful and apprehensive towards her; it wasn't much, but it was a start.

She knew she was tough on them but also knew she had to be. War wasn't a pleasant sort of business and though most of her unit would only ever see the inside of field hospitals and evacuation trucks, those would be bad enough in themselves. Besides, she wasn't there to make friends; she was there to serve. She had grown used to solitude and had long since learned and accepted to be lonely, and there was no need to change that now-even if part of her longed for affection and trust and pure, unadulterated friendship-

Shaking her head to clear it of such thoughts, she tied off her braid and pulled down her t-shirt. At first the majority of her subordinates had been appalled by the simplicity of her toilette and the shorts and shirts she had forced on them for exercise, but they had adapted to both rather quickly once she'd reminded them that there would be little time or means to doll up when they got to France. Though they were significantly more comfortable to jog in, shorts _did _equal bared legs and had consequently obliged them to do a lot of their work outs early in the morning or away from the camp; bare skin became that bit more risque when there was an entire regiment of paratroopers mostly starved of female company to reckon with. Eleanor, for her part, didn't mind it much. She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept in and long days were her status quo-it only made sense for the girls to grow accustomed to the same.

_Not that it's even particularly early. _October in England meant late dawns and the unit's regular morning runs had been forced back consistently because of it; as winter drew ever closer and the days grew ever shorter, so did their window of opportunity to slip out unseen. Soon they'd be forced to find a different solution entirely.

Eleanor glanced at the clock on her desk. _07:00. Time to wake them up._

Grabbing the school bell that stood besides the clock, she strode into the main area of the dormitory and clanged it insistently. "Rise and shine, ladies!" Groans erupted from around the room and Eleanor allowed herself a smile as she registered the footsteps coming from upstairs.

"Up, up and at them!"

The nurses rolled out of their beds reluctantly, more than a few of them pressing hands to their heads and blinking owlishly as Eleanor threw open the curtains to let in the pale light of the early morning sun. "You've got five minutes to change into your PT gear," she called, making sure it was loud enough for those on the second floor to hear, "Let's go, let's go!"

Sure enough, fifteen minutes later found the entire platoon up and on the move, their jump boots squelching in the mud of the country lane they were running down. Eleanor had seen to it that her unit had received jump boots rather than the much-hated brogans that most US soldiers wore; though they would probably never appreciate the hassle it had taken her to get them, it was one of many small favors their CO had done them. Besides her, Betty Edwards - the nurse who'd had the common sense to call the group to attention when they had first met their lieutenant - asked if they could sing between measured breaths, and Eleanor agreed to it immediately. While not a natural thing to do whilst running, song was a good way of keeping up morale and setting a pace and she'd encouraged it from day one. Sadly, as the ANC distinctly lacked its own cadences, they were limited to the more rhythmic of popular songs or, as was the case today, some of the men's tamer chants.

"I saw a girl running down the street..." Eleanor begun, smiling when it was echoed back by the entire troupe. It was little more than an altered version of the generic airborne cadence, but it sufficed. "Had a kit on her back, jump boots on her feet."

Up ahead another lane joined the one they were on and broadened it by half, hopefully giving them more room to dodge the worst of the puddles and potholes. The track joining theirs was as of yet obscured by a hedge but, having run this route many times before, they knew it was there. "I said, hey-"

"Hey, pretty lady, where you goin' to?"

_Wait-what?_

Eleanor's head snapped up as another voice unexpectedly joined in with hers. Appearing from the other lane was another company - a company of _men_ - and they were repeating the line as though it was the most normal thing in the world.

_E Company, _she realized, recognizing the redhead running ahead of them and coming up beside her while the rest of the men fell into place next to her girls. Dick Winters looked decidedly uneasy about the situation and more than a little embarrassed; thankfully his men seemed to be behaving themselves and their CO was nowhere in sight. Suppressing the urge to swear, Eleanor continued the cadence without missing a beat.

"She said US Army Nursing School."

To her relief, her unit - though a little breathless and giggly - followed her lead without hesitation. The nearest point of divergence was almost half a mile away; if she could keep them in line until then they'd be fine. She'd be damned if she would give Winters another reason to patronize her and, really, it was just a bit of fun-even if the way he was frowning indicated he certainly didn't think so.

"I said hey, pretty lady, ain't you been told? Nursing School's for the brave and the bold!"

Glancing back over her shoulder, Eleanor could now identify the source of the mischief. Dark curly hair and a grin that put Bob Hope to shame, the private - Gore, Gordon? something like that - seemed to have a knack for rhyme and improvisation, though it wasn't as though his colleagues weren't willing conspirators. She could put a name to a decent number of the men by now: besides Winters and Welsh there were the three she had met on her first night in Aldbourne - Joe Toye, Bill Guarnere and the ginger fellow who had turned out to be Malark_ey_ rather than just Malark - as well as whole bunch she had run into on random occasions. Perconte was the shorter guy; Luz the self-proclaimed company comedian; Roe the taciturn medic, and Muck the one who seemed to lack teeth when he smiled and hung around Malarkey more often than not. Besides being generally friendly, the company also appeared to have a tendency for its members to be unreasonably good looking.

Not that she was complaining.

"She said hey now, soldier, don't be a fool-I'm an instructor at the nursing school!"

The girls echoed her ad libbed lines with amusement and followed her as she sped up, pulling ahead of the men as the junction came into view.

"'Cause I'm a hotshot - lean and mean - fit to fight..."

Winters made no attempt to keep up, despite - or perhaps precisely because - more than a few of his men having burst out laughing by this point, but even he was smiling one of his rare smiles. Eleanor grinned.

"Rock steady, tough 'n ready..." she finished the verse, jogging backwards briefly and throwing the fifth company a playful salute before turning away and to the left. The men's laughter and whoops echoed after them as the nurses moved further off and left them behind.

"Saw a girl running down the street..."

* * *

Cheered by their early encounter, Eleanor's unit had taken on what was a by all means tough schedule of exercise and tutorials with good grace and humor throughout the rest of the morning. When lunch rolled around sometime around midday, the lieutenant was thoroughly pleased and in high spirits herself. Feeling generous, she tapped Betty Edwards on the shoulder.

"Could I have a word with you?"

If Edwards wondered why her CO wanted to talk to her, she gave no sign of it. "Yes ma'am." Nodding curtly, Eleanor led her away from the rest of the group to find some privacy in the corner of the cafeteria. She chuckled when she noticed how - her best efforts to mask it notwithstanding - Betty seemed nervous at being taken aside like this.

"At ease, Edwards, I won't bite." The other woman relaxed a little and Eleanor continued. "You did well today, Betty. You all did. As a reward you'll have an hour off after lunch."

Edwards' expression went from nervous to delight faster than seemed humanly possible. "Oh, thank you, ma'am!"

"I'd like you to tell the girls for me."

Delight turned to confusion this time. "Ma'am, surely that should be your prerogative-"

"No, I want you to do it," Eleanor insisted with a smile, patting the nurse on the arm companionably, "All right?"

"Yes ma'am."

"All right," she agreed, glancing at her watch, "I have some errands to run, but I should be back in half an hour, tops." The additional message of _keep the girls in line in the meantime_ remained unspoken, but Eleanor knew Betty would catch on to it without any trouble. She was a bright girl, this one, as clever and capable as she was pretty, and decidedly high up on the recruitment list for the OSS team. Moreover, Eleanor simply _liked_ her friendly professionalism and dependability, which never hurt. Nodding at her again she dismissed her, returning her salute briefly before heading off to find Harry Welsh.

* * *

"Lieutenant Welsh!"

The man in question looked up at the sound of his name, rolling his eyes theatrically. "Ellie, I told you. Call me Harry."

She wasn't sure when she had become _Ellie _to Welsh and Nixon, but Eleanor found she didn't mind it-if only because it was different from any of the nicknames she'd had in the past. Smiling softly, she sat down next to him on the brick wall enclosing headquarters. "Harry."

"Better," he nodded, watching as she shifted around in an attempt to get comfortable, "Nice show earlier."

"Thanks. Hester said you wanted to talk to me?"

It alarmed her a little to see his otherwise ever-present smile fade a bit and his countenance become almost serious. "Yeah. I've been hearing a lot of rumors lately."

"Oh?" she frowned, instantly on guard, "About what?"

The lieutenant put away the field manual he'd been rifling through and leaned back to look at her properly. "Apparently one of your nurses has been, uh-" he paused, considering his words for a moment before giving it to her straight, "Flirting with Sergeant Talbert."

Sighing, Eleanor ransacked her brain to remember who he was. She'd heard the name, that much she knew; now that she thought about it she was certain she'd heard it whispered around the nurses' billet more than once. _Damn it._

"Talbert..." she pondered out loud, biting her lip, "Brown hair, big blue eyes?"

Welsh nodded. "That's the one."

"Meant to be a bit of a ladykiller, isn't he?"

"He likes to think he is," Harry snorted, digging up a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offering her one. She shook her head politely, already running through the names of her unit to try and match them to the one she had just heard. All but a few had indulged in a bit of flirtation with the men at some point, but Welsh had made it sound as though there'd been more going on-as though whatever was happening might actually be compromising to the parties involved.

"Which one of my nurses?" she asked eventually, having run out of options and still not entirely certain which one of them was being implicated. It bugged her that she hadn't been able to tell.

"A Nancy Campbell?"

_Of course. _She shook her head, exasperated. "I should have known," she grumbled, irritatedly flicking at the gravel on the driveway with the point of her toe. Welsh, having lit his cigarette, shrugged and patted her on the shoulder consolingly.

"Eh, whatcha gonna do?"

Blowing a loose strand of hair out of her face, Eleanor grinned lopsidedly, looking at her friend from the corner of her eyes. "Give them hell?"

He laughed and hopped off the wall, offering her an unnecessary hand down that she did not take. "Right," he said, watching her dust off the back of her skirt, "You'll talk to her?"

"Of course," she replied, raising an eyebrow, "You'll talk to him?"

"Yes ma'am." She smiled at him in parting and was about to walk off when he called after her. "Hey, you coming to the pub tonight?"

_Work to do, briefings to prep, maps to assess, messages to translate and encrypt, distances to keep..._

"Hm. Maybe," she responded vaguely, already heading towards the barracks, "See you later, Harry."

She spent most of the way back reprimanding herself over having missed something that must have been so obvious. How could she not have noticed? The reputation of the entire damn unit - not to mention her own - might be at stake here. They'd be screwed if Sink caught wind of this.

_Way to let things out of control already, Fairfax. And you were having such a good day until now, too._

Once she had returned to the nurses' lodgings, Eleanor managed to find one of Campbell's friends and asked her to locate the guilty party and send her to her office. She waited in her cubicle for a good few minutes, perched on the edge of her desk, until here was a timid knock on the door and Nancy Campbell poked her head around it.

"Lieutenant Fairfax?"

"Yeah. Shut the door."

At barely twenty, Nancy was one of the youngest in the group and very probably hadn't been exposed to this much independence before-not to mention this many men in uniform. Sighing, Eleanor crossed her arms in front of her chest and observed the fidgeting girl for a moment.

"Do you have any idea why you're here, Campbell?"

"No ma'am."

_Like hell you don't, you silly twit._

"I got some unpleasant news a little while ago," she started, pausing briefly to see if Campbell would be willing to talk now; she wasn't. "Seems like you've been spending rather too much time with a certain sergeant."

Campbell's blush was instantaneous. "Ma'am-"

"What were you _thinking,_ Nancy?" Eleanor demanded, frowning down at the younger nurse. In all likelihood the girl _hadn't_ been thinking, nor were the odds on her actually understanding what her dalliance meant. Eleanor wasn't sure that made matters better or worse.

"Lieutenant, I-" Campbell stammered, "It's harmless-"

Eleanor barked out a laugh, incredulous. "_Harmless_? Do you have any idea how much trouble you'd be in if any of the superior officers were to find out? How much trouble we'd _all_ be in?"

_Do none of these girls have any common sense? _"You're being commissioned as a second lieutenant soon," she raged on, not even wanting to consider the consequences of a female officer being romantically linked to a male non-com, "What d'you think would have happened then?"

Campbell was on the verge of tears by now, lower lip wobbling precariously and head bowed in shame. "I-I'm sorry ma'am."

"Well, you ought to be," Eleanor finished, breathing out slowly and softening at the sight of the poor girl's distress. She honestly had no idea what she had done wrong, bless her. "Look, I get it. He's a charmer, you think you're in love with him-"

"I am!" Nancy protested, and Eleanor was hopelessly torn between scornful mirth and despairing compassion, "Lieutenant, I love him, and he lo-"

The officer held up her hands, silencing her. "You've known him for all of a fortnight, sweetheart. I doubt he feels the same way."

The tears were falling steadily down Campbell's face; Eleanor found a handkerchief and held it out to her student sympathetically. "Nancy, I don't want you to get hurt," she said, wincing as the girl blew her nose noisily, "If you want to continue seeing him, fine, but on your head be it. At the very least be discreet about it."

Bright eyes looked up at her uncertainly from above blotched cheeks. "Yes, ma'am."

"The _moment_ I hear anything else about it, though, you're done, and there _will_ be consequences. Got that?"

"Yes lieutenant."

"Good. And don't even think about coming crying to me when he breaks your heart."

"No lieutenant."

"Off you go."

The handkerchief was offered back to her, but Eleanor declined it with a faint smile. "You need it more than I do." Watching the besotted girl shuffle out of her office, she rubbed a hand against her temple wearily.

_Please, _**_please_**_ let this be the last time I have to go through something like this. _She chuckled humorlessly, shaking her head. _Yeah. Fat chance of that._

* * *

That evening Eleanor withdrew to the uncommonly quiet mess hall in search of some solitude. Only a handful of the kitchen staff remained in the building now that dinner was over; the larger part of the men were headed to town, leaving the common areas of the base empty and almost peaceful. Flicking on the light in the main dining room, she surveyed the abandoned space for a moment, her hands lingering on chairs and tables as she passed them by. In the far corner she spotted an old piano that looked like it hadn't been played in a while; smiling to herself, she stroked the keys experimentally and found her fingers coming away dusty.

_At least it's tuned._

A sudden fancy overtaking her, she sat down on the worn-looking bench and placed her hands over the keys carefully. She struck a note, gently, then another, closing her eyes as she remembered a time and a place far away - wooden floors, high mirrors, blinds half-drawn as if to protect her from the world of pain outside - and relayed the familiar melody on instinct. It was a melancholic sort of tune, all hushed reminiscence and faded memories, and she let it sweep her away as her fingers flitted over the chords.

When the song drew to its mild conclusion, the sudden sound of someone clapping startled her out of her reverie abruptly. Inhaling sharply, she turned around to see Lewis Nixon leaning against the frame of the door.

"Chopin's nocturne. Very nice."

Regaining control of her breathing, she smiled at him amiably. Leave it to Nixon to recognize the tune; she doubted many of the other men would have. He was a welcome breath of civilization around the place sometimes. "Thank you. Do you play?"

"Me?" he asked, almost as though the very notion baffled him, "Oh no. God knows mother tried, but uh-" he ambled over and looked down at her peculiarly for a moment, "It's not for me."

She patted the seat next to her, indicating he should take it. "But you had classes."

"Yeah," he confirmed, grinning at her fiendishly as he sat down and played a tentative _Mary had a little lamb. _Eleanor shook her head, chuckling.

"Impressive, but a little bland. What about..."

"_Clair de Lune,_" he observed, the cocky edge to his smile disappearing somewhat as he looked out of the window. "Shame about all the clouds."

Her breath caught when their fingers accidentally brushed against each other. She had to duck her face to hide her blush. "That's England for you."

"I guess it is," he said; she could sense his eyes on her. "Hey, you want to come to the pub with me?"

_Yes. Maybe. No, I definitely can't. No way._

"I, uh-I can't."

_There, you've said it! Attagirl. No getting friendly with him just because he happens to be the only cultured gent around-especially not after lecturing Nancy the way you did._

"Aw, why not?" he pressed, "Some of the Baker Company guys got a record player. I bet you like to dance."

She did, desperately, and having not had an opportunity to indulge her love of it in ages really rather missed it at that-but for all that her heart fluttered and somersaulted, her mind won in this particular matter.

"Nah, I'm clumsy as an ox."

"Get outta here! You? Clumsy?"

"What, I don't strike you as the type?" she mocked, recalling their conversation from that first night they met, relieved to find she had regained control over the color of her cheeks.

"You really don't."

She stretched, cracking her knuckles and pretending not to see him cringe at the sound of it. "Well, I'm definitely the type to write her brother from time to time."

It was the first time she mentioned any of her family to any of the men in Aldbourne, something she was both acutely aware of and yet saw little harm in. Philip lived literal miles away and had little to do with the army; add to that the fact she hadn't actually seen him in years and it seemed like a fairly fail safe diversion.

On top of that, she really did need to write him.

"You have a brother?" Nixon all but blurted, thick eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

"Yeah, in Louisiana."

Down went the eyebrows. "You're not from the south."

She smiled. "People move, y'know. You got any siblings?"

His face darkened briefly, some woeful expression flitting briefly over his handsome features, but it was gone in an instant. It didn't mean she hadn't noticed it, however, or that she didn't perceive the way he brushed off the topic entirely too quickly.

"A sister, some place," he said airily, turning to face her. "Listen, are you sure you don't want to go?"

She shook her head, for once determined enough not to give into an E Company man. "Sorry, no." Clapping him on the shoulder, she stood up from the bench. "Have a drink on me, though."

He laughed. "That I _can_ do, babydoll." Somehow she didn't doubt it. "Are you absolutely sure-"

"Yes!" she grinned, swatting at him, "Exit, pursued by a bear!"

"I'm going, I'm going..."

She watched him leave, worrying her lip between her teeth. Obvious problems with rank and mission aside - never mind the whole issue of leading by example - this man seemed to be everything she had ever liked in the other sex: handsome, smart, civilized and witty. Had her mother still been around, she would have probably been making wedding plans already-yet Eleanor couldn't help but feel hesitant about taking any steps in the romantic direction.

Running a weary hand through her hair, she slumped back onto the seat and sighed heavily, staring at the keys. Her next choice of tune was more ironic than instinctive. _Beethoven's Tempest._ _Those clouds aren't going anywhere._

She could have sworn she heard Nixon laughing all the way down the hall.


	6. If I Didn't Care

**Disclaimer: this story is based chiefly on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.**

* * *

_Eleanor had known loss before. She had lost patients, had sat by the bedsides of the wounded and the dying; she had been no stranger to death even before she had joined the Special Operations Executive. Having been deprived of both her parents at a young age and having worked in a hospital for some years after that, she had not been wholly unused to the hurt and grief and terror that came with it. To everything there was a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven. Such was life-something which she had long since accepted._

_But she had never purposefully caused hurt to another either. 'First, do no harm'; it was every doctor's ethical code and, perhaps more importantly, something she had lived by even before she had come to London to train as a physician. She had always been, by nature, a sweet-tempered creature prone to mercy rather than cruelty-or so she had thought, at least. She had been so certain of her own temperament and the ways of the world back then, yet there had been nothing - no amount of death, no amount of certainty - that could have prepared her for the things she had seen and done whilst in France._

_She had known her missions would bring her face to face with some horrific things. Of course she had. She had been trained for them and, at least superficially, had understood they were a necessary evil that had to be done. None of it had made them any easier._

_The first time she'd been forced to kill had been well over a month after her arrival in France. Her tasks until then had been relatively painless, if not without risk - seduction in search of intelligence, wireless work, the occasional bout of sabotage - but circumstances had changed and she'd been deemed ready for assassination. On paper at least it had been a reasonably simple assignment: get in without being noticed, shoot the target, ditch the gun and get out, once again without anyone taking heed. The target, too, had been straightforward enough: the low-ranked staff officer had an infamous cruel streak and had long been a thorn in the resistance's side. He had to be taken out before he did any further damage to their cause or their people._

_Amidst the swirling smoke of a Parisian _gare_, Eleanor had performed her duty admirably. It had been quick, it had been dirty, yet most of all it had been up close and shockingly personal; she had never considered the impact of watching the light go out of someone's eyes and knowing you had been the one to cause it. Once she'd dodged the police on her way back to headquarters and had reported in as planned, SOE colleagues and resistance fighters alike had patted her on the back and congratulated on her first successful kill. _

_Kill. It sounded dreadful and just a little hard to comprehend even now; it certainly hadn't felt like much of a victory then._

_There had been no sleep for her that night. She had sat in her small bedroom window overlooking the city, pondering the man whose life she had taken. It had been no secret that he had been the cause of some unspeakable crimes, yet when she had looked through the research they'd compiled on him she had not failed to notice that he'd had a beloved wife and children somewhere, too. In spite of everything someone had cared about him; someone had loved him, and now she had become the unidentified source of their grief. What right had she had to play God like that?_

_Things had only gotten worse after that. The retaliation for the assassination had been unexpectedly dire; in the fortnight after the incident more than a dozen of the local resistance - or even just civilians who may or may not have aided them at some point - had been gruesomely killed as a vengeance for that single, supposedly small-scale hit. In essence Eleanor had been responsible for their deaths-for the execution of her friends and many more innocents besides. It was something she had not - could not - ever forget._

_The Grim Reaper had never been far from her since. She had lost count of how many she had buried over the years, of what their causes of death had been (her own hand as well as those of others) and sometimes even what their names were. In a way she had managed to desensitize herself to the violence and rising death toll; it was the only way she'd had left to function. She'd even adopted a coping mechanism on the advice of one of the more senior maquisards: think of it as a game of maths. For every person that dies, another might live-perhaps more. Perhaps a dozen, maybe a hundred. Sacrifice was necessary but worthwhile._

_Life would have been so much easier if she'd actually believed that. Things would have been so much simpler if she had accepted that a young person's death was never needless and always served a cause, or that one person deserved to live while another should be forced to die._

_She had seen too much to regard those things as true, however, and the blood on her hands might never come off again._

* * *

Ironically enough, it was around Armistice Day that Eleanor was starting to feel like a normal person again-whatever 'normal' might mean. Despite her initial panic she'd had little trouble establishing the new and improved American version of herself, so long as she glossed over her past and steered clear of conversations that threatened to become too personal. Aldbourne seemed lifetimes away from war-torn France and she treasured her burgeoning friendships with the men and women of its base. Sure, there were nightmares and flashbacks and the occasional tremor in her hands or bout of inexplicable irritability, but she could now honestly tell people she was fine. She hadn't been able to do so in a long while.

It occurred to her how gratifying - how steadying - something as simple as a daily routine could be: she'd settled rapidly into a regimen of basic army-style training in the mornings, medical classes in the afternoons, and administrative duties and maybe a drink or two after dinner in the evenings. She enjoyed the predictability of it, the satisfaction of working with her unit and seeing them flourish as the weeks progressed. Throughout it all there was the companionship of her nurses and the sporadic run in with the men - for some reason Easy seemed insistent on hanging around their billet a lot, more so than most companies - plus, if she was lucky, lunch or dinner with her fellow officers. Harry Welsh had become a good friend within days of their meeting, sibling-like in his banter and dependability, while her vague flirtations with Lewis Nixon were an ongoing source of amusement to their mutual group of friends. Among them, Clarence Hester was a familiar and cherished face whenever she popped over to regimental headquarters and though she still had trouble figuring out Dick Winters, she certainly didn't dislike him as much as she once had either.

She had purpose, she had friends, the grudging respect of her seniors, a roof over her head and a warm bed to sleep in. It was a happy compromise and more than she had dared hope for after fleeing France for the third time in as many years. On the whole, she felt _good_; yet all of that changed when the regiment's first training jump in England rolled around.

The day had started out innocently enough: Eleanor had gathered up her nurses and ushered them into the trucks waiting to transport them to the airfield along with the rest of the 506th. When a few of the girls had hesitantly asked if casualties were expected, she had assured them that all of the boys had their jump wings and knew what they were doing. They were as safe as could be so far as jumping out of planes went and there was really no need to worry. For some time she had actually believed it, too; how many times had _she_ leapt out of aircrafts without getting hurt, after all, and into enemy territory no less? _No_, she had told herself, _everything will be fine._

If only it had been.

The ANC unit had responded to a too-loud thud and a sickening crack of-well, _something._ None of them had actually seen the parachute fail at the last moment or the trooper go down as a result; they had been too preoccupied with watching the second set of planes take off. Eleanor, having grabbed Betty Edwards and Sandra Blaise along with her, was the second person to make it to the scene of the accident. She froze instantly at the horrific sight that met her eyes.

Bones stuck out an unnatural angle and blood was everywhere. What had until recently been a living, breathing (_loving, laughing_) human being was now a decidedly dead and mangled corpse. She barely recognized him as being Fox Company, the only real proof of his identity the colleague who came rushing over and collapsed next to him with a despairing wail. By her side, Betty and Sandra clapped their hands over their mouths in shock, dismayed by this rough first encounter with death and its devastating aftermath.

_They've never seen a dead body before, _Eleanor realized absentmindedly. _This is their baptism by fire._

Numbness swept over her like a tidal wave. Honed instincts kicked back in after a long absence and she shut herself off to the world, forcing impassivity. "He's dead, private," she stated, blankly, not even bothering to sugar coat it or soften the blow. What would be the point of it? They would all have to face this kind of thing sooner or later and if they couldn't deal with it they wouldn't be fit to fight.

The surviving trooper - a kid, really, _just a kid_ - turned to her, eyes wide and disbelieving and brimming with tears. It was hard to grasp for him that the man he had lived with for over a year - the man he had gone through the toughest training available in the US Army with - was gone, and somewhere deep down she understood his anguish. She _knew_ what it was like to feel like that-but she couldn't give into it.

"N-no!" the boy stammered, "He can't be, lieutenant, you gotta do something-"

And that was perhaps the most heartrending of it all. He still had hope, clung to it in fact, and he looked to her to help him-to save his friend. There was nothing she could do and was painfully aware of it, but he clearly wasn't. How could he be?

"He was dead the moment he hit the ground," Eleanor sighed, stepping forward to drag the distressed soldier away from his dead colleague, "Nothing we can do."

As might be expected, the man struggled. "But you can't-no-he's my buddy-" He grappled at her, seizing hold of her hand on his shoulder, pleading, begging for her to understand and _do_ something. "Help him! _Please!_"

Eleanor wrestled herself free from his grip and turned to her two subordinates. Both of them had tears dripping freely down their cheeks, _innocence lost,_ and were paler than she had ever seen them. She'd have to talk to them, she registered belatedly, assure them with meaningless platitudes and tell them it was all right. The hell of it was that it wasn't, not by any means. Young men shouldn't be dying in a war because one crazy extremist had decided to take over the world. They certainly shouldn't be dying whilst _training_ to go to war in the first place.

_God, but I suck at the consolation thing._

"Betty, get something to cover him up," she ordered quietly, not even noticing that her hands were shaking. Betty definitely did, concerned brown eyes flickering between her trembling fingers, her cold, distant gaze and the bawling private nearby.

"Ma'am-"

"_Now, _Edwards!" she snapped, lashing out harshly at a girl who really deserved no reprimand-but she was too dazed to feel remorseful.

"Yes ma'am."

As the two nurses set to work coaxing the grief-stricken soldier away from his friend and covering up the unfortunate casualty, Eleanor spotted the crowd that was gathering a little ways away, staring and whispering amongst themselves in hushed, astonished tones. A lot of them were Easy Company - they must be near their dropzone - and she couldn't help but scan their faces to see if they were okay, to check if any of them had not made it back. _Hoobler. Penkala. Toye. Randleman. Martin. Sabourin. Robitaille. Grignon..._

"What's going on here?"

She blinked, unaware that she had dwindled off into the names of her old resistance comrades, and adjusted her focus until she could make out Dick Winters' concerned blue eyes.

_Christ, his lashes are long._

"Looks like something went wrong with his chute," she said, automatically, as her limbs continued to shake. "Gravity took care of the rest." _Like it did that Johnny Come Lately lieutenant London sent over when the first kid died. What a bloody mess. _

She shook her head, trying and failing to disperse the memories rising up within her and threatening to overwhelm her completely. _Focus. England. Green hills. Red blood-no, damn it. There'll always be an England. We beat everything the Luftwaffe could throw at us. No Bosche here. It's safe. It's safe-_

"We done here?" she forced out, not realizing Winters had called her name twice now without getting any response or even that Welsh had arrived at their side and seemed torn between being puzzled, disturbed and worried as he watched her.

"Yeah," Winters nodded, about to add another _are you all right,_ but his confirmation was enough for her to turn around and get the hell out of there.

"Good. I've got men to see to." She really didn't, as far as she was aware, but she could feel her heart pounding in her chest, her lungs straining to draw in air, her head suddenly becoming too light. She had to get out. She had to leave, to hide, and so she walked off, not entirely sure where so long as it was _away_-

"Ellie!"

If she heard Welsh's uneasy call she disregarded it, walking on wobbly legs until she was ought of sight and breaking out into a stumbling run when she was sure no one could see her-_get away, get away,_ until she could go on no longer and finally crashed down onto her knees.

She dry heaved once, twice, arms wrapping around her torso as she bent over in agony. Her gasps for air dissolved into sobs (_quiet, quiet, must keep quiet_) as the memories became too much, stabbing at her like white-hot knives until all that was left were bleeding shreds of torment and fear. _This wasn't supposed to happen. I'm supposed to be fine, supposed to be safe. Where do I go from here? Where the hell-_

"Lieutenant Fairfax?"

A distant voice called out to her and she managed - just barely - to pull herself together and wipe a shaky hand across her face. _Steady, steady. Show no weakness. _

"Lieutenant Fairfax?" the voice came again, closer this time, and she forced herself upright, silently glad she had skipped breakfast that morning and had left no obvious signs of her distress. She pasted on a smile - empty, pleasant - and turned to face Carwood Lipton, who was looking at her with compassionate if apprehensive concern. He was a good man, as good as they came, but right there and then the last thing she wanted - the last thing she needed - was sympathy, let alone pity.

Otherwise she might just break down completely.

"Are you all right, ma'am?" he was asking, reaching out a gloved hands to touch her shoulder gently, but she deftly shrugged it off.

"Y-yeah," she rasped, clearing her throat. _Lower your voice, get it under control. _"I'm fine."

Lipton wasn't convinced. "You look a bit pale, ma'am."

"I'm fine, sergeant," she said tersely, putting emphasis on his rank as a clear _back the fuck off or so help me,_ and was glad when he did just that. "You seen Major Horton?"

"He's down that-a-way, ma'am."

She nodded, thanking him curtly and striding off to report the death and - hopefully - compose herself fully on her way to doing so._ Breathe in, breathe out. _Pinching her cheeks to get some color back into them and squaring her shoulders, she clasped her hands behind her back to hide them from view; at least until they stopped shaking. _Breathe in... _She inhaled slowly through her mouth, holding her breath for a moment, then forced it back out equally slowly through her nose. _Good._

_How am I ever going to function in France when I can't even deal with a training exercise in England anymore?_

She straightened defiantly. "Major Horton, sir?"

* * *

Horton stalked off, no doubt to deal with the consequences of a trooper dying on his watch, and left Eleanor to her own devices. _Keep going. Keep busy. Don't let your mind wander. _Sighing, she looked around the area and caught sight of the men headed towards the rally point. _I'd best go check on the girls._

It wasn't hard to find the assembly area; all one had to do was follow the steady stream of GIs. Quite a few of them acknowledged her, some a little more warily than others after her earlier display, tipping their helmets and saluting. Up ahead she could see her girls gathered around the ANC truck; Sarah had her arm around Sandra, consoling her, while Betty stood off a bit to the side and looked contemplative. _Self-reliant and tough, _Eleanor thought, just the slightest bit proud, _she'll make me a good executive officer someday._

The boys were already gearing up again and getting ready for another jump. She smiled faintly at the ones she recognized but frowned when she noticed Skip Muck struggling with his jump gear; his friends seemed to be doing little besides making light of his predicament thus far.

Her jaw clenched, the memory of the wretched troopers of that morning still fresh in her mind, and she strode over towards the small group without warning. "Hey, lieutenant!" Malarkey greeted her cheerfully, blissfully ignorant of what had happened less than an hour before and the dark mood it had put her in, "Top o' the morning to yer! How's the-"

She grabbed hold of Skip's gear without hesitation, tugging at straps and righting wrongs with practiced ease. "What the hell!" he exclaimed, automatically recoiling from her, but she pulled him back and continued until she was certain that he was strapped in properly and the job was done. A hush had fallen in the direct vicinity, one that she became acutely aware of when she looked up into hazel eyes as large as saucers. She smiled, a little lopsided, and patted him on the shoulder.

"Just because you're new to this doesn't mean everybody is, Private Muck," she chastised without heat, purposefully ignoring his spluttered protests and the continued whispers around them. Instead she turned on her heel and continued on her way, never once looking back.

There had been enough death that day.

* * *

Despite the disastrous turn of events early on in the day, the training jumps continued for the rest of the afternoon and the ANC unit remained on scene for the duration. There were no further casualties unless one counted minor scrapes and bruises - egos as much as anything - and teatime found the regiment packing up and preparing to head back to Aldbourne. Eleanor, waiting for her order to move, was leaning against the large wheel of one of the deuces, watching the world go by from her isolated hideout. Though the ground beneath her was yet a little damp, the weather had been fairly fortuitous for once and she'd had no issue sitting down. Her fingers - finally still again - were toying with a scrap of grass distractedly, her gaze not particularly focused on anything save the green strands.

"Ellie."

Her head shot up at the sound of the nickname; even now there were few who actually called her that. "Hm?" Towering over her (and there was a rare occurrence if ever she saw one) was Harry Welsh, looking uncharacteristically solemn. "Oh, Harry. Everything all right?"

"I dunno," he said, crossing his arms and staring down at her sternly, "Guess that depends on whether or not you're going to tell me what the hell happened back there."

She looked at him impassively, playing for guilelessness. "What, with Muck? His jump gear was on wrong."

Welsh backed down a little at that, frowning down at her in utter confusion. "How-" He shook his head. Now was not the time for sidetracking; she wasn't getting off this easily. "Never mind. No, earlier, with the faulty chute."

Eleanor sighed. _Please, please don't make me go over this again. _"The kid was dead. End of story."

Her friend was honestly appalled at that-not entirely without cause, certainly, though it was more the shock of hearing her say something quite so ruthless than anything else. "Jesus Christ, Elle, a little compassion goes a long way." She was abruptly aware of the change in name and felt the tides rising again, hurt and anger mixing in with bad recollections.

"Harry, those boys are being dropped squat-bang into the middle of a _war. _If they can't deal with this-" she trailed off, upset, looking away in shame as tears burned her eyes and she neared breaking point for the second time that day. Never mind the fact that even she apparently couldn't deal with it, the boys _had_ to be ready. Deep down she knew there'd be casualties, but surely not all of them-not every single one-they _had_ to be ready-

"Ellie. Ellie," Welsh's smooth voice seemed to be coming from miles away and she didn't fully snap back to consciousness until his hand wrapped around her arm and shook it. She blinked. He was kneeling down in front of her. "Hey. You all right?"

She flinched. "I'm fine." _Or I was, at any rate, until rather recently at least._

"Lipton said-"

"I'm _fine,_" she repeated, a little miffed that he wouldn't just leave her alone. She couldn't pull rank on him the way she had with Lipton; if he decided to press she would either have to keep him at arm's length somehow or risk walking away altogether. _But then do you really want to?_

"Sure you are," Welsh said, sounding for all the world like an indulgent father talking to a lying child. He sighed and sat down next to her, their knees bumping together as he studied her face, eyes narrowed as though searching for something he couldn't quite see. "How long have you been in Europe for?"

_Shit. _She startled but gave no outward sign of it save a slight widening of her eyes. _How does he know? What do I tell him? _So far she had always been able to avoid the subject of her past; vague details and generic remarks had been her stock of trade, but now it seemed that push had finally come to shove. Logically she knew that she should stick to sketchy answers, but then letting on that she had been in the war for a while might make life easier in the long run. It would also be good to confide in someone-to share the burden of her memories, if only by a little.

In the end she settled on a simple response that fit with her rehearsed cover. "Early 1941." Welsh's eyebrows shot up. "Red Cross," she clarified, smiling gravely.

"Jesus Christ."

She huffed a laugh. "You can say that again." He ducked his head down, running a hand through unruly curls only to succeed in mussing them further.

"Well. That explains a lot."

_That_ alarmed her. They were close, that was hardly a secret, but she wondered what he had noticed-what he had seen. Based on the way he had gone about the conversation he'd had his suspicions for a while, meaning he must have observed something else about her that didn't sit well with her squeaky clean image of a simple ANC nurse. She was curious if others had perceived the same thing about her. _Just how worried should I be?_

Pushing that thought aside for the moment, she exhaled steadily. "Yeah." She shook her head, the remorse that had been brewing all day suddenly overflowing. "Harry, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so harsh on them."

He looked at her, head tilted, blue eyes kind. "No, you shouldn't have," he agreed, "But you were trying to help. Next time something like this happens, just come to me, all right?"

"What, and show the girls that I can't even take care of myself? That I need a big strong man to look after me?" She knew he meant well, but it simply wouldn't do. "I can take care of myself."

"I know," he smiled, slinging an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close, "But even you could do with a little help sometimes, kiddo."

And just like that the tension drained from her and she let herself melt into his embrace, eyes fluttering closed. God, but it felt good to be held. Maybe he was right. Maybe one thing didn't necessarily countervail the other. Maybe she could stand to gain from depending on others a little for once.

As he pressed a brotherly kiss into her hair, the one thing she knew for certain was that she wasn't as alone as she had previously thought.


	7. These Foolish Things

**Disclaimer: this story is based chiefly on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.**

* * *

"Lieutenant Fairfax."

The nurse, curled up in an old armchair underneath her service jacket, stirred but did not wake.

"Eleanor."

A soft groan, a frown. The make-shift blanket slid down to reveal more of a khaki blouse.

"Ellie!"

"Nngh!" she cried, eyes flying open and body surging up against the hand on her shoulder. Squinting to shield her eyes from the sudden light overhead, she could barely make out the silhouette of the man who had woken her. "Gene?"

Eugene Roe, crouched down in front of her, nodded and rocked back on his heels. "Hey there, lieutenant. Bad dream, huh?"

_Splotches of red standing out against the white of a silk parachute. George Luz, once vivid eyes dead and unseeing, smart mouth silenced forever. The wretched cries of the men she was supposed to protect-Joe Toye, crawling for help, calling out in agony-Nixon going down, hip flask still in hand-Lipton flung against a wall like a rag doll-Harry Welsh's head lolling back lifelessly, gapped teeth showing in a painful mockery of a grin-gore everywhere-_

"Yeah," she breathed, a little shaken. When had her nightmares ceased to be about France and begun to revolve around her friends in the 506th? Right around the time they had become her friends in the first place, she suspected, but she had never been able to recall her dreams this clearly before. Was it some kind of warning? Some cosmic heads up that she was getting too close to them-a preview of what was to come?

"You all right, ma'am?"

Easy's medic hadn't moved a muscle, almost eerie in his stillness, and was looking at her with evident concern. He was a sweet boy, courteous to a fault and even less prone to smiling than the infamously solemn Richard Winters. Lightening his grave expression from time to time was an ongoing mission for Eleanor; she liked Gene Roe, and goodness knew he could do with some succor from time to time. He kept himself separate from the rest of the men enough as it was, something she understood all too well-treating colleagues was far easier than treating friends, after all.

"Yeah," she repeated softly, patting his hand with a smile, "Just-give me a minute?"

"Of course, ma'am. I'll be right outside."

Watching him go, she sighed deeply and ran a hand through her tousled hair. The past few days had been busy and she had intended to take a quick midmorning nap to catch up on some shuteye; a glance at her watch revealed she had slept longer than she'd originally intended. Luckily the rest of the nurses had classes on military tactics for most of the morning - one of the few things she _didn't_ teach - so she wouldn't have to worry about them for the time being. She had however promised Gene another tutorial and wasn't about to back down on that commitment. Straightening out her blouse and folding her jacket over the chair, she stepped out into the main area of the infirmary and smiled at the half-Cajun when he looked up at her.

"Shouldn't you be with the rest of Easy?" she wondered idly, closing the door to her office behind her. Despite his self-enforced distance, Roe was with the company more often than not.

"Uh, they've got rifle practice, ma'am."

God, but he was polite. "Gene, really, you can drop the 'ma'am' when it's just the two of us," she assured him, fond amusement coloring her voice. His pale cheeks reddened a little.

"Yes ma'am." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Sorry," he muttered sheepishly, one of those rare, treasured smiles tugging at the edges of his mouth. _Good._

Walking towards the supply closet, she rifled through a set of drawers in an attempt to find the medical textbook she had hidden at the bottom. Roe was a capable medic and eager to learn despite having no prior intentions towards the trade; if taking him under her wing and teaching him a thing or two resulted in a boost to his confidence and a little extra security for the company, it was something she would gladly do. If nothing else her years in school wouldn't go to waste and her knowledge would be passed on to someone who would make good use of it. It wasn't hard to tell why Eugene had been picked as a medic: there was a certain soothing lilt to his Louisiana cadence, a quiet strength and charisma that calmed people wherever he went and would no doubt come in use with combat casualties.

That and he was a darn fast runner when he needed to be.

"Right, where were we?" she asked, flipping open the thick tome and running a finger along the index of topics. He moved to her side and peeked at the paper over her shoulder.

"Burns, if I remember rightly, ma-" he checked himself, smiling, "Eleanor."

She grinned back at him, already turning the pages. "Ah, yes. Here, have a look at this..."

An hour or so later found them hunched over another book, their heads bent closely together as they discussed different treatments in hushed voices. Outside, the watery sunshine had been replaced with a light drizzle that pattered against the windows; in the distance they could hear the faint song of the robins in the trees. The moment of calm was interrupted abruptly when the infirmary's main doors were thrown open and two damp-looking privates stumbled in.

"Anyone here?"

Eleanor was on her feet in an instant, rushing over to the men. One was supporting the other, the latter bent over as if in pain; obviously something was wrong. "Whoa, hey, where's the fire?" she asked, catching the invalid as his friends lost his balance and threatened to topple over entirely. Beckoning Eugene over, they helped the wide-eyed private move the patient towards the beds.

"L-lieutenant Fairfax, ma'am," the private stammered, "My buddy, I think he's sick."

_No kidding. _"Get him on the bed," she ordered steadily, briefly stepping aside as the men hoisted their colleague onto the mattress. She took stock of his overall appearance rapidly: pale skin, unfocused pupils, instantly tried to draw his knees to his chest. Abdominal, more than likely. She stooped over him, her expression kind. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Robinson, ma'am," he managed to get out between grit teeth, "John Robinson."

He was struggling too much, natural instincts telling him to try and get away from the pain while all Eleanor needed was for him to stay still for a moment. "John, you're going to be just fine, all right?" Glassy blue eyes met her own as she put a gentle hand to his too warm head. Finally, he stopped trashing and settled down somewhat. She smiled. "All right. Gene, check his temperature for me, will you?"

The words had scarcely passed her lips or the medic was wielding a thermometer and coaxing their patient to open his mouth. That, right there, was another reason why Eleanor got along with Roe so well: he anticipated people's needs almost intuitively and was ridiculously easy to work with as a result.

"John, can you tell me where it hurts?" she asked, already aware of the answer but not intending to take any risks unless strictly necessary. Robinson winced, knuckles whitening as he grabbed onto the sheets; standing at the foot of the bed, his friend looked on in concern.

"My stomach. Hurts like a son of a bitch."

Eleanor nodded. "Okay, I'm just going to lift up your shirt." Not waiting for his consent, she drew the fabric back and carefully prodded his abdomen. "Here?"

The private shook his head. "More to the right."

She tried again, lower this time. "Here?" She knew she'd got it when he yelped loudly and arched away from her touch.

Meanwhile, Roe pulled the thermometer from Robinson's mouth and checked the results, scowling. "He's gotta fever, ma'am."

She sighed. "Yeah, that's what I thought. How long have you had this pain in your stomach, John?"

"I don't know," the man glanced at his friend questioningly, trying to remember. The private shrugged. "Couple of hours?"

"And it's gotten worse?" A nod. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, it definitely has."

_Gotcha. _She knew what was wrong with the fellow in the bed and she knew what had to be done, but as a mere nurse she would have to get her diagnosis corroborated and the treatment signed off on by a doctor. As annoying as it was, it was standard procedure and one she had no choice but to adhere to. She turned to Eugene, leaning over to whisper in his ear. "Find one of the surgeons."

"Yes ma'am."

Seeing Roe leave, the soldier who had brought his friend in looked at Eleanor in alarm. "What's wrong with him, lieutenant?" he asked her anxiously, alluding to his colleague, brown eyes as wide as they had been when they had first arrived in the ward. Eleanor searched her mind for his name.

"You're Dukeman, aren't you?"

"Yes ma'am."

Taking him by the arm, she led him away from the bed and towards the front door. "Well, private, I think your friend's got appendicitis-but the surgeons'll have to confirm that." She halted just before the exit. While her encounters with the disreputable Herbert Sobel had been few, she had seen and heard enough of the man to know members of his company wouldn't be here without his knowledge or consent; still, she had to ask. "Does your CO know you're here?"

"He does, ma'am."

"Okay. Report back to him and tell him Robinson is definitely sick. We will let him know more once we do." _Nice and vague. Serves Sobel right for making the poor kid suffer through several hours of this torture._

"Yes ma'am." Dukeman hesitated, glancing at his friend over his shoulder before looking back at her, expression earnest. "You'll look after him, won't you, ma'am?"

Technically, she really didn't have to. She could easily get one of her unit or even Gene Roe to sit with Robinson while they waited for the surgeons; she had a to do list the length of her arm and he was just one private. Somehow, though, she found that she could not bring herself to leave.

"Of course I will," she promised Dukeman, squeezing his arm, "He's going to be all right, I promise." _Even if it means I have to sit with him all day and operate on him myself. I'll find a way.._

The relief on Dukeman's face when she told him as much made it all worthwhile.

When Dick Winters came into the infirmary some time later, fresh out of a training exercise but eager to find out if his soldier was all right, Eleanor remained at Robinson's side as she had sworn she would. Though Winters was greeted at the door by Roe's familiar features, his eyes soon fixated on the nurse holding the private's hand and talking to him quietly. He had not expected to see her there; while she was by all accounts a decent commanding officer, he hadn't thought she would take the time or make the effort to sit with a patient like this.

"Doc," he greeted Roe, "The surgeons figure out what's wrong yet?"

"Lieutenant Fairfax did, sir," the medic answered candidly; another surprise for Winters. "The surgeon just confirmed it. It's appendicitis."

The lieutenant nodded slowly, familiar with the term. "Will he need surgery?"

"Yes, sir. They're transporting him to a local hospital soon."

Clapping the medic on the shoulder in thanks Winters moved towards the bed, now able to pick up what Fairfax was saying. Her words were gentle, tender almost, her voice a soothing lullaby of reassurances. "Shh, it's all right. You're going to be fine. I promised, remember?"

Promise or no, the private was in a lot of pain. "It h-hurts."

Eleanor smoothed a hand over his clammy brow. "I know it does. Just squeeze my hand, okay?" She smiled in encouragement when he did. "There you go." Looking up at the sound of nearing footsteps, she saw Winters walking over to them and nudged Robinson to alert him to the officer's presence. "Hey, look who it is."

"Lieutenant Winters, sir?"

If Winters had been surprised to find her there, Eleanor was down right astonished to see him. As far as she was aware Dukeman and Robinson weren't even in his platoon; he had as little if not less of an obligation to be here than she did. Before he had always struck her as aloof, a bit patronizing even, but his appearance displayed an unforeseen dedication to his men. _Seems like we have more in common than I thought._

"Yeah, John, it's me," he was saying, coming to stand beside Eleanor and reaching out to place his hand on Robinson's leg.

"I'm sorry, sir."

The nurse frowned. "Sh, none of that. It's not your fault."

She felt Winters' eyes on her briefly, searching, appraising. "She's right, private." He smiled as Eleanor glanced up at him, a minute, tender quirking of his lips. It transformed his otherwise impassive features, lighting them up, and she suddenly found herself noticing the freckles smattered across his fair skin. _Strange. I never noticed them before._

"You just rest now, all right? We'll get you back on your feet in no time."

Her mouth was darn close to falling open. _Well, who would have thought, Lieutenant Uptight. You're not nearly as bad as you seemed._

* * *

"They think it hasn't burst yet," she observed lightly, crossing her arms as she walked up to Winters and they watched the medical transport drive off, "Once they've operated on him he should be fine." The lieutenant nodded silently, seemingly lost in thought, and she was about to return inside when he called out to her.

"Eleanor?"

She swiveled back around. "Yes?"

"Thank you," he said, going on to explain himself when she raised her eyebrows at him in question. "For what you did for Robinson. It was kind of you to stay with him."

"Oh!" she breathed, bemused by his sudden outspokenness, "That's all right. It was the least I could do."

"Still. Thanks."

That seemed to be the end of it, and Eleanor frowned to herself as she turned away once more and headed up the steps leading to the front door. This whole day had been one long string of odd moments, she decided. _Must be the sleep deprivation. Coffee it is._

"Harry-"

_Now what?_

The redhead was smiling self-consciously when she faced him again. "Sorry. Harry told me you've been here for a while."

_Of course he did, the insolent leprechaun._

"Forty-one," she admitted curtly, leaning against the balustrade and tilting her head a little. Was Winters actually trying to make conversation? _That_ certainly was a first. His reaction to her news, however, was not.

"You've been in the war all this time?" he asked, amazed, "Since _before_ Pearl Harbor?"

"Yeah. I signed up with the Red Cross early on," she shrugged, the old lie rolling off her tongue with ease, "I wanted to help."

"What about your family?"

"Gone, mostly. My parents died when I was young."

"I'm sorry," he said, eyes softening, genuine regret and compassion in his voice. She couldn't recall the last time she had received anything but bland, superficial expressions of condolence in reaction to that tidbit of information. It was as touching as it was startling.

"Don't be," she said quietly, still trying to wrap her head around the whole situation, "It's a long time ago." Clearing her throat, she fiddled with the buttons on her jacket distractedly, doing them up to fully protect herself against the chill autumn air. Time to shift the focus to him. "So what brings you to England, then?"

"The culture?"

Eyes widening inadvertently, she chuckled, taken a back by the sudden display of wry humor. _Well aren't you just full of surprises today. _He ducked his head and smiled, moving sideways until he was standing directly opposite her.

"I was selected to attend the OSC after basic training and decided to join the paratroopers once I'd finished." The look he gave her was almost apologetic. "It's really not that great of a story."

"I've heard worse," she assured him, discerning for herself what he had failed to mention, "You signed up out of your own accord, didn't you? You volunteered."

"The whole company did," he said, dismissing his own decision quickly and making it sound like an exceedingly ordinary thing to do. She knew it wasn't; there was a draft going on for a reason. "At least this way we know the man next to us is the best there is."

"Something to say for that."

"Yeah." They both smiled this time and there was something resembling endearment in his gaze when he looked at her. "You, uh-you want to get some lunch?"

_How despicably I have acted, _she thought, the echoes of an old story flitting through her mind, _I, who have prided myself on my discernment!_ She realized now that she had been mistaken in not trying to get to know him and basing her opinion of him solely on a rash first judgment. He was making an honest attempt at getting better acquainted; there was no reason why she should not return that favor.

"Sure," she said, pushing herself off the railing, "Why not."

Taking a chance paid of. The more they talked the more Winters opened up, his smile becoming more consistent, his dry with more apparent. Relaxed conversation loped from military matters to the peculiarity of British society before wandering into the more personal territory of childhood memories and motivations for being in the war. Eleanor found herself enjoying his company more than she had ever anticipated.

She had been drawn to Harry Welsh because of his openhearted warmth and impish disposition; Lewis Nixon had allured her with his sophistication and strong sense of sarcasm. But, as she now discovered, there was a certain charm to Dick Winters' sincere kindness and humble intelligence. She had already known he was a good officer; she was starting to believe he would make a good friend, too.

* * *

"Can you believe this broad? Wearing heels in the goddamn snow..."

Eleanor smiled indulgently at the man beside her, her attention never fully wavering from the large screen in front of them. She had developed an undeniable soft spot for jocular George Luz, but she had always loved the silver screen; the periodic film nights held in the mess hall were a definite perk of being stationed at a US camp. Even though the supply of new pictures wasn't always forthcoming, they provided a few uncomplicated hours where she could just loose herself in soft lighting and hopeless romanticism. Re-watching old favorites reminded her of simpler times, of the sophisticated elegance of days gone by. It was a guilty pleasure that few knew about. Even Luz, though he was the only one to consistently show up to all of the movies displayed, seemed like he hadn't caught on yet.

While he often had her in stitches with his running commentary and spot-on imitations of stars and friends alike, tonight was an exception. _Swing Time _was a particular favorite of Eleanor's and while she had put up with his criticism of Ginger Rogers' choice of winter footwear - as well as his by large and large questioning of female sanity - she could only take so much. There was no interrupting _A Fine Romance. _Not on her watch.

_A fine romance with no kisses; a fine romance, my friend, this is..._

"You womenfolk are crazy, I'm telling-"

"Sh!" she hissed, engrossed by what was happening on screen. Couldn't he tell this was the best bit?

"Wha-" he exclaimed, affronted, but then he noticed her almost girlish delight and his eyes widened comically. "Oh. _Oh_!" His gleeful laughter was instantaneous, only silenced when she glared at him darkly. He threw up his hands in a gesture of self-proclaimed innocence, but his eyes were dancing roguishly and she knew she'd been discovered. Shaking her head with a sigh, she focused on the film again-she could deal with him later.

_Well there are times when I can't make you out... when you're so aloof..._

When the story had drown to a close and _A Fine Romance_ had been reprised on the heights of a snowy New York flat, Luz was still sniggering. "Christ, lieutenant, I never would have thought."

She rolled her eyes fondly, getting up from her seat and heading towards the exit. "Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up."

Luz jogged up beside her, grinning. "Aw, ma'am, I think it's sweet." She shot him a look. "Really!" Great, so now he was _actually_ mocking her. Inclining her head in thanks as he held the door open for her, she stepped out into the cold November night and pulled her collar up on instinct.

"So I'm a bit of a sap," she conceded, "Let's just keep that between us girls, huh?"

He seemed to consider that for a moment. "Well if we're keeping it amongst the dames, I might as well tell Penkala, Grant..."

Eleanor laughed. "Luz!"

"Talbert... Webster, definitely, the man's too damn pretty for his own good."

She shook her head, turning a corner and heading towards her billet. The sergeant followed her without question. "You have no shame," she remarked mildly, slowing her steady pace so he could keep up without changing his usual stroll.

"'Shame'?" he asked, pulling a face, "What's that funny word you used there, lieutenant? I've never heard it before."

"Ha, ha."

Ahead she could see the shapes of two men staggering along, obviously less than sober. It wasn't until they came closer that she recognized them as Winters and Nixon, the latter with his arm slung around his taller friend, seemingly unable to stand under his own power.

"Oh dear," she breathed, halting, torn between amusement and being utterly appalled. She had always known Lewis was a heavy drinker - he carried around a hip flask of a very particular brand of whiskey, for crying out loud - but she had never seen him quite this inebriated. It was ironically sobering. Beside her, Luz's reaction was somewhat harder to decipher.

"Guess you'd better go check that out, huh?"

A slow grin blossomed on his face and the play on words was not lost on her. She quirked an eyebrow at him in response. "Yeah, I guess I should."

He smirked, giving her a jolly salute. "See you around, ma'am."

Sighing, she turned away when he did, walking up towards the pair of officers. "You two all right?"

"Whey, it's the cavalry!" Nixon exclaimed, lunging forward in an attempt to get to her but only succeeding in planting a hand squarely on her collarbone (which she promptly removed) when he tripped over his own legs. _You're lucky it wasn't any lower, pal, _she thought, turning to Winters who - as usual - was perfectly teetotal, and - like normal - was blushing just the slightest bit at the sight of her.

"Present and accounted for," Eleanor teased, smile mollifying, "Need a hand?"

Embarrassment was replaced by relief and gratitude on the lieutenant's attractive face, but Nixon interrupted her before he had a chance to speak.

"Nah, he doesn't need a hand. He's a guardian angel, y'know. He _flies_."

Winters seemed to disagree with that sentiment, however, and there was a silent plea in his eyes that was hard to deny. "Would you mind?"

"Not at all," she assured him, ducking under Nixon's free arm and hoisting it around her shoulders, "C'mere, Nix. Upsy daisy."

Between the two of them they managed to get the intoxicated intelligence officer back to barracks and into his bed. Neither of them could be bothered to undress him, letting him fall back onto the mattress fully clothed and already half dead to the world. Regardless Eleanor could not help but draw a blanket over him, maternal inclinations coming to the fore.

Nixon grumbled, turning his face into his pillow obstinately. "G'way, Cathy."

Eleanor froze, brows furrowing. "Who's Cathy?"

"His wife," Winters answered quietly, tucking in the edges of the coverlet as their friend drifted off to sleep.

"Wife?" Eleanor mouthed, thrown by the revelation and blinking dazedly when Winters nodded. "Oh."

_He has a wife? Ain't that a kick in the head. Guess he conveniently forgot to mention it._

"I had no idea he was married," she mused, a little hurt. All this time she had been flirting shamelessly with a wedded man. She was no prude, but that just seemed _wrong_, no matter how lovely the fellow or how terrible his spouse.

Across the bed Dick inclined his head in a silent invitation for her to follow him outside. "He is," he said, "He just doesn't talk about it much."

Eleanor fought down a most unladylike snort. _You don't say._ "Trouble in paradise?"

"Something like that."

"Huh." She motioned back in the direction of the officers' billet as they walked towards the spot she had originally ran into them. "This happen often?"

"It's not that bad," he said, but his face told her otherwise. She was beginning to appreciate the tiniest of movements that could give away his real meaning or feelings; he had a good poker face, but not so good that it was wholly indecipherable.

"Right," she scoffed, voice dripping sarcasm and eyes scanning the moonlit sky. It was getting late again and exhaustion was starting to overtake her; she had to bring a hand up to her mouth to cover a yawn. "I'd better head back to my barrack."

Winters nodded. "Let me walk you there."

She knew he was quartered with a family in town; he and Harry both were. Town, however, was the exact opposite direction of where she was headed and he'd be making a detour if he were to walk with her. More than that, they were in the middle of the base-what could possibly happen to her here?

_Again with the condescending... and you were doing so well before!_

"What, in case the big bad paratroopers get me?" she snarked, too weary to subdue her stubborn sense of pride. His answer was surprisingly calm and unaffected.

"In case there's more drunks around and one of them is stupid enough to make a move."

She hesitated. It occurred to her that he really did mean well; having no idea of her previous training and consequent ability to defend herself, he was honestly trying to look out for her. It might come across as a little overprotective, but given what she had learned about him over the span of the day this type of chivalry probably came naturally to him.

He smiled a little, features easing. "Please? I'd just like to know you're safe."

Once again the unadulterated, sincere concern for her well-being baffled her. For a man with such subtle ways of expressing himself he was remarkably straightforward, and she decided that she kind of liked it. After years of secrecy, duplicity and hidden meanings, it was admittedly refreshing.

"All right."

She took his arm out of her own volition and pretended not to notice he was comfortingly solid and warm by her side. Sometimes the things we need most are the ones we expect the least.


	8. Bei Mir Bist Du Schoen

**Disclaimer: this story is based chiefly on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.**

* * *

_Eleanor had always thought of herself as a leaf on the wind, soaring wherever the gale would take her. Adaptability might as well have been her middle name. She had no particular attachment to any particular place; she'd moved from Louisiana to Washington at the tender age of five, then from D.C. to Paris a few years later, and finally from the city of light to London when her father had died in her teens. Whatever roots she had grown in those places had been virtually severed every time she had relocated. _

_Strangely the war had changed all that, as it had changed so many things. Despite all the killing and lying and death defying acts, Eleanor had been fine when she'd first been deployed; she had been good at what she did. She'd had a handler who kept her going with smuggled tea and paternal affection, a group of friends who inspired her and made her smile. For the first time in her life, she had felt like she belonged._

_In many ways those things had been what had kept her going; it had only been natural that she had started to fall apart when they had been taken from her. First there had been the German retaliation and the loss of her comrades; then her handler had been killed trying to get her out of Paris after the network had been double-crossed and betrayed. Doubts had grown, beliefs had frayed, yet she had kept going to honor the memory of her fallen friends._

_That is what she had told herself at any rate; the unacknowledged truth was she simply hadn't known what else to do with herself, and so she had continued to assassinate and sabotage and gather intelligence on the SOE's dime. The French had welcomed her with open arms wherever she went; there had been others after Paris, a new extended family in Vichy and Normandy. The cracks had been there, lying in wait in the dark crevices of her mind, but for the longest time she'd been able to function-to live and to fight. She had been okay._

_It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment when things had caught up with her and she had stopped being as much, but it had certainly been in Normandy. Vichy had already been rough - it had gained her a reputation and her highest death toll to date - but the next mission had been gruesome. Perhaps it had been the sight of massacred school children and the grim remains of the failed invasion years before. Maybe it had been the near-destruction of the local network as a direct result of her growing notoriety. She couldn't be sure. All she knew was that she seemed to have left behind all sense of equilibrium somewhere on the beaches of France._

_If she had been a leaf soaring on the winds of youth and affluence before, she had returned to England a ragged remnant swept up in a storm of memories and grief. It had seemed unlikely she would ever feel like she belonged anywhere again._

* * *

_You are my sunshine, my only sunshine... you make me happy when skies are grey..._

Humming along quietly to the wireless warbling in the corner, Eleanor smiled to herself as she rifled through a box of recently arrived supplies and put the items in the cupboard. Around her the girls were chatting and laughing amicably as they performed their chores - making beds, cleaning floors and the like - while outside, the first snow of the season fell softly against the windowsills. It was one of the tranquil sort of mornings that life in Aldbourne provided plenty of; she had grown accustomed to them with frightful speed and treasured their easy contentment.

_You'll never know, dear, how much I love you... please don't take my sunshine away..._

There was something highly satisfying about working side by side with her unit, sharing their tasks and watching them interact. Looking about the infirmary she could see Anne and Katie giggling as they tucked in sheets, eyes sparkling with shared glee; near them, Maria twirled around her broom as though she were dancing with it, laughing when Evelyn playfully whacked at her with a duster. Eleanor's affectionate smile faded a bit when she saw little Nancy Campbell sorting through files in the corner, looking glum. She sighed empathetically. _Should probably ask her what happened with Tab in the end._

"Lieutenant."

The officer glanced up, seeing her designated second amble up towards her. The smile returned.

"Betty," she greeted, closing a drawer and wringing her hands together, "You done with the inventory of the supplies room?"

"Yes ma'am. We're fully stocked."

_As expected, then. _Casualties had thankfully been few and far between and even cases of the flu and other illnesses had been sparse. For the time being, at least, the 506th was an admirably healthy regiment.

"There's a surprise."

Edwards smiled, hands clasped behind her back. "No ma'am."

"All right," Eleanor nodded, "Get everyone to finish up with the ward before lunch and tell them to wrap up warm later. We're running the obstacle course in the afternoon."

As dutiful and hardworking as she was, Betty couldn't help but cringe at the prospect of doing the exercise in the snow. Still, she answered as expected. "Yes, lieutenant."

Appreciative of her lack of complaint - no doubt there would be enough of it from the other girls later - Eleanor patted her friend on the shoulder and picked up the now empty crate, intending to stow it away. She was halted by Betty's tentative call.

"Ma'am?"

Turning back around, she could see the nurse's apprehension and briefly wondered if something were wrong. Her fears turned out to be close to unfounded.

"Some of the E Company fellas asked a few of us to join them in the mess tonight."

Eleanor was aware that there would be some form of dance for second battalion that evening, as there was every so often. While she had been to the Aldbourne pub with the other officers on a somewhat regular basis she had thus far only twice been persuaded to come to the mess and had mostly kept to the side on both occasions. Observance was her thing; conversation was well enough, but dancing and properly joining in with the revels constituted a whole new level of attachment that, even now, she wasn't sure she could commit to.

If she were honest, though, she missed dancing like mad and deep down longed or a good jitterbug. It had been far too long since she had last been spun about a dance floor.

"Isn't that precious," she remarked drily, crossing her arms and leaning against the front desk. As she had observed before, her unit seemed particularly attached to the Easy boys, good-looking and charming as they were. Fate seemed to have decided to throw them together; goodness knew her own closest relations were with men who were somehow connected - no matter how tangentially, as with Hester and Nixon - to the fifth company of the regiment.

Being close to them did mean she knew the girls would be as safe as they could be with those boys. They had a way of looking after themselves and anyone they decided to take into their fold; while Eleanor was well aware of some less than licit affairs amongst the two units, no virtues had been damaged and discretion had largely been adhered to. Knowing that they'd be looked after, she was comfortable to let her girls step out with the men when they wanted to.

"Yes ma'am," Betty was saying, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, "We were wondering if you wanted to come along."

Her breath caught. She frowned. "Oh."

_Well, that was unexpected. _Up until then none of the girls had had the courage to ask her to join them on their downtime. It had always (entirely predictably) been Harry Welsh's relentless nudging and pushing that had swayed her to socialize at all. The fact that Betty was asking her now - seemingly on behalf of the others at that - was both surprising and somewhat touching.

"It's just that you hardly ever come to the bops, ma'am," the pretty nurse was explaining earnestly, "We'd love for you to join us."

"Thank you," Eleanor replied quietly, "That's-" She smiled. "That's very sweet of you, Bets. I'll think about it."

Edwards lit up like a Christmas tree, dimples flashing. "Great!" she enthused, "I'll get the girls to complete their chores."

Watching her subordinate caper away to share the good news, Eleanor nodded vaguely, thoughts running at a million miles an hour. "Yeah."

_What on earth to decide?_

* * *

"Hey beautiful!"

Walking along the corridor towards the cafeteria, Eleanor's eyes crinkled into a smile at the familiar voice calling out to her. "Hey, Welshy," she greeted, the old British tradition of affectionately adding "-y" to a surname coming inadvertently, "How are you doing?"

The shorter man moved up beside her, sauntering along in that casually alert way of his. "Well, Ellie, I'm feeling lucky."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "This the infamous luck of the Irish?"

"Better," he deadpanned, "I didn't get stabbed in the behind by some nurse yesterday."

_Figures he'd bring that up. _The previous days had seen a battalion-wide session of inoculations that had led to more than a few assorted hijinks. Lewis Nixon had been one of many to try his luck.

"In my defense, Nix had it coming."

And he had. The man had an uncanny ability to make even the cleanest joke sound downright dirty and he had been on fine form during the vaccinations. In an attempt to get him to shut up and play nice, Eleanor might have jabbed him a little more forcefully than was technically required.

Welsh grinned. "I bet he did."

"He was being an ass!" she exclaimed defensively, not entirely pleased with Harry's insinuations. While attraction lingered and the two of them remained close, seeing Lew so desperately drunk and simultaneously finding out he was married in one fell swoop had been a bit of a wake up call for her. As charming as he was, she did not think he was for her. Not like that, anyway.

"And this is new, how?" Harry responded, smiling at her. She chuckled.

"Fair point."

"There you go," he placated, placing a hand on the small of her back to steer her towards the serving station. They filled up their plates with what was supposed to pass as nutritious food (_God, I could do with a roast right now, _she thought) and, spotting their friends at a nearby table, went to join them.

"Dick, you old so-and-so."

Looking up from the coffee he was stirring with his fork, Dick Winters smiled at the sight of his colleague and their friend walking up towards them. Harry seemed his own chipper self but, for some reason, Eleanor appeared especially well to him that day. Her cheeks had filled out a little over the recent weeks and some color had returned to them; her eyes and hair, too, were a bit brighter, her demeanor more relaxed. Aldbourne seemed to be doing her a world of good.

"Hey, Harry," he greeted Welsh before nodding at Fairfax, "Lieutenant. Good to see you."

He was relieved to see her return his smile; the initial strain between them seemed to have disappeared, and he was glad of it. "You too, lieutenant," she said, setting down her tray and pulling up a chair. Her eyes were mischievous when she glanced at Nixon by her side. "Lew, you sitting comfortably?"

The intelligence officer scowled at her amiably. "You're hysterical, Fairfax. Really." She shrugged, grinning into her glass as Nix suddenly seemed to realize something. "How come he gets a 'lieutenant' and I don't?"

"'Cause he didn't make the lame kind of jokes you did," she replied simply, digging into her lunch. Across from her Harry had already wolfed down a large part of his, smirking at her around bites of food when she shot him a disgusted look. Next to him, Winters put down his utensils sedately, blue eyes searching out hers.

"How'd the rest of the inoculations go?"

She recognized the hidden query in his otherwise straightforward question and dabbed at her mouth with a napkin before replying. "Easy behaved themselves, if that's what you're asking."

"Ellie, of course it is," Nixon quipped, "You know what he's like."

"Well hell, if I'd have the likes of you in my company I'd be worried too."

Welsh laughed. "And you'd be right to!" Repeating an age-old question, he then proceeded to ask her if she was coming to the mess that evening. Eleanor raised her eyebrows.

"You're a tenacious sort of guy, aren't you?"

"That's besides the point." He actually managed to look petulant. "Come on, just this once."

She sighed, rearranging the peas on her plate. Might as well tell them. "I might."

Lewis almost choked on his coffee. Harry's mouth fell open. Even Dick's eyes widened just the slightest bit.

"Wait, what?" Welsh blurted, fork clattering against the ceramic of his plate. Her voluntary agreement to a night out must seem like an extraordinary thing to them, judging by their reactions.

"The girls already asked me to come along."

"And you said yes?"

"I said maybe."

"Jesus," Nixon remarked, astounded, leaning back into his seat, "Who are you and what have you done to Ellie Fairfax?"

"Hey, I've been to the mess before," she protested, prodding him in the arm. She knew it was the losing side of an already tough argument, but that didn't mean she could at least _try_ and defend herself.

"Twice!" Harry corrected her, "You've been to the mess _twice._"

Lew nodded. "And never once did you dance."

"Ha!" she said, "I'm sorry, I was a little preoccupied with patching up half your damn _company_ after you got into a brawl with Fox last time!"

It was true. Someone - she wasn't sure who they were or what they had said - had managed to insult one of the Easy boys, possibly the company as a whole, and before she had even realized what was going on punches were being thrown. It had been gratifying to see Easy beat the other unit hands down, but decidedly less pleasant to have to stitch up various gashes and put ice on a number of black eyes afterward. The final outcome hadn't been pretty; they had been lucky she'd been there to help and keep Colonel Sink from catching wind of the incident.

"They were insulting us!" Harry complained, "Even Dick agrees with that." Looking at the redheaded lieutenant, Eleanor could tell that though he did not endorse the type of bar fight that had taken place he might just agree that Fox Company had slandered Easy. She smiled, once again struck by the vast differences between the friends. Both Harry and Lew drank like sailors on shore leave while Dick was as temperate as they came. Welsh had a notorious temper - rumor had it he had been busted back to private for fighting _three times_ before making it to second lieutenant - and Nixon was all about easy living and bad habits. Winters was calm, composed, and practically had no vices. The three of them couldn't have been more different and yet they got along splendidly. It was something that would never cease to amuse and endear them to her.

"And obviously retaliation is worth a couple of bloody noses and cracked ribs."

Welsh grinned. "Always."

Eleanor rolled her eyes fondly. "Men." Remembering the original topic of the conversation she turned her attention to Winters, suddenly curious. "Are you coming tonight?"

_That_ got the boys' attention, both their heads snapping up to watch the duo. Winters seemed hesitant, lips pursing slightly as he looked anywhere but at her. "I'm not sure. I have some paperwork-"

"C'mon, Dick, the lieutenant wants you to go," Nixon interrupted abruptly, a sly look in his dark eyes that made Eleanor immediately cautious. She knew that expression.

"Lew-"

He ignored her. "How can you turn her down?"

It was impossible to stop herself from blushing. Amazingly Winters, for once, didn't seem to have the same problem. He finally looked at her, eyes locking on hers intently, the curve of his mouth relaxing into a faint smile. "Do you want me to go?"

"I-" she stammered, cursing herself for acting like a damned school girl. _Focus, you ninny. Get yourself together. _She swallowed. "Yeah, I mean, it'd be good to see you, but if you've got work to do..." her voice trailed off and she looked away, embarrassed. What the hell was wrong with her?

"I could drop by for a while."

His answer was quiet yet enough to startle her a little, their eyes meeting her again. She nodded, returned his gentle smile, and came to a decision.

"Okay. I'll go, then."

She had no idea why, in her mind, that had suddenly become the only answer available to her.

Harry smiled at Lewis, smug if a bit incredulous. "Nix, I think the world may be ending." Engrossed as his two friends seemed in each other, the gap-toothed lieutenant never anticipated her next move and yelped when she reached out and thwacked him solidly around the side of the head.

"Ow!"

_Serves him right._

* * *

"Follow me! Come on, move it!"

Their breaths crystalized in the air, forming little puffs of vapor as they ducked, climbed, rolled and pushed their way through the track. There had been the necessary grumbling about having to run the obstacle course in the snow, but once the afternoon had come around the complaints had ceased and they had set to it. Eleanor, for her part, was at the very front of it all, happy to see the girls were working together, encouraging each other onward and stretching out hands to the stragglers. They had already gained stamina and strength; now it was time to teach them coordination and teamwork. Until they learned to breathe, think and function as one, everything else would be of little use.

The unit did well, achieving a decent time despite the sludge of ice slowing their movements and clinging to their clammy bodies. By the time they had finished they were all bone weary but elated at having made it through. "All right, time to hit the showers," Eleanor announced, proudest of them all, "Well done everyone."

They walked back to their barracks together admits smiles and arms slung around shoulders, hurrying into the warmth of the building and relative comfort of the bathrooms. As they filed in Eleanor fussed around, making sure no injuries had been sustained and no one had gotten too cold. She gathered soaked clothing and hung them out to dry, waiting for the girls to return from their baths; when they finally did she had to hide her own shivering from them as she moved into the showers.

Stripping down and out of her soaked ODs was a relief. She relished the hot spray of the shower on her skin, closing her eyes with a sigh as she worked shampoo through her hair. _Ah, small comforts. _She ran her hand over her shoulder, feeling the raised flesh of a ragged scar and looking down at her stomach to see another. Her whole body was a roadmap of blemishes, each telling their own tale of previous traumas and hurts. It had stopped bothering her long ago. They were faint reminders of what had been, but she considered them with thoughtful rumination rather than distressed remembrance nowadays. _What's done is done, and that's that._

Her hushed contemplation came to a harsh halt when the door swung open, cold air streaming past her and the jolt of it sending a rush of adrenaline through her body. She had to grab hold of the stall to keep herself from slipping when she whipped her head around to see what was going on.

"Lieutenant, we-"

Nancy Campbell stood in the doorway, expression moving between shock and shame rapidly. "Oh!"

_Damn it, she's seen them._

"You ever hear of knocking?" Eleanor barked, turning off the water and grabbing a towel to cover herself up. She was all too aware that the mark on her shoulder blade was still visible and so, apparently, was Nancy; the girl had blanched completely, all color drained from her cheeks as she stared at her CO. Eleanor huffed an annoyed sigh.

"Stop staring, kid, it's just a scar."

This wasn't good. Scratch that, it was _bad._ Very bad. There were going to be questions now, she was sure of it, and how was she ever going to explain her injuries to them?

"What happened to you?" Campbell whispered faintly, continuing to gape despite Eleanor's explicit warning. For all that she'd grown close to her unit, the nurse had always assumed Lieutenant Fairfax showered separately simply because she was an officer and was awarded such privileges. She could see now that there might be more to it.

"I got hurt," Eleanor answered brusquely, "End of story." Readjusting the towel around her torso, she noticed just how stricken Nancy looked; for once there were no tears, just pure, utter awe and consternation. It was somewhat unsettling, but worst of all was that she felt the inexplicable need to apologize to the girl for her terse behavior.

She breathed out slowly to soothe her frayed nerves, purposefully softening her manner. "I'm sorry, Nancy, I didn't mean to snap at you. What did you want to say?"

"We-" Campbell paused, licking her lips nervously, "T-that is, the girls and I-"

"Yes?"

"We were thinking we could help you get ready, ma'am." At the lieutenant's nonplussed look, she dared to elaborate further. "You know, for the bop."

Eleanor frowned, crossing her arms across her chest. _Huh._

"I see. And what exactly would this 'getting ready' involve?"

Nancy smiled, finally relaxing a bit. "Well for starters..."

* * *

"Ta-da!"

The girl hoisted up between Gale and Evelyn in the mirror was almost unrecognizable to Eleanor. Her regular frizzy waves had been done up in loose curls, her nails - though they remained stubbornly short - had been painted, and she was wearing a full range of make up for the first time in a long while. She looked healthier, too, less strained than when she had last taken the time to study herself in any reflective surface. It was enough of a change to shock Eleanor a little.

"Oh," she breathed, tilting her head to get a better look at the flared skirt and gathered sleeves of her off-duty dress. She hadn't been this dolled up since Paris - she hadn't even worn this dress before, come to think of it - and the sensation of it had become foreign to her since then. Sensing her uncertainty, Betty Edwards dared to squeeze her shoulder and smiled at her.

"You look like a million bucks, ma'am."

There were giggles and titters of excited agreement throughout the group. Eleanor flinched. She had allowed the girls their bit of fun simply because they had worked hard and seemed intent on making sure she would fit in with the rest of them; she had never expected anything quite like this.

"I'm not sure-" she muttered, brushing an errand curl out of her eyes, a whiff of hairspray tickling her nostrils. _God, but this feels strange._

"Aw, lieutenant, you deserve some fun!" Maria declared, cleaning up the arranged tubes, flasks and jars. More sounds of assent, followed swiftly by small hands pulling her to her feet.

"The fellas will be so excited to see you."

_Oh, lord, the boys._ She hadn't even thought about that. Their reactions were going to be interesting to say the very least._ Keep calm and carry on, and happy Thanksgiving to you all._

"How many do you think'll be there?"

"Well, there's three companies in the battalion. Each company has about a hundred-and-fifty men."

A frown of concentration. "So that's-"

Eleanor smiled in amusement, straightening out her skirt and walking over to grab her coat from its peg. "Girls, really, I think it's safe to say the odds will be in our favor."

Anne laughed, seemingly relieved that their CO didn't condemn their obvious schemes to flirt with the boys they so fancied. "Yeah, like a thousand to one."

Betty, finalizing the victory rolls in Sara's hair by pinning them down securely, wasn't so certain. "Maybe not that many." Sitting in the chair before her, Sara grinned and turned to look at Eleanor, instantly reprimanded that she needed to remain still.

"But plenty to dance with, right ma'am?"

"And they'll all look so handsome in their uniforms," Katie swooned, starry-eyed, pressing a hand to her heart theatrically. Her statement warned Eleanor she'd best press home some discipline and order before they all headed out.

"Now hold on, just to make sure I'm absolutely clear," she said, looking around the room sternly, "Mingling _only_."

There was an obedient chorus of "yes lieutenant", but Eleanor went on. "I don't care how many handsome faces there are, you will _all_ be in your own beds tonight. Understood?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Good," she smiled, glancing at her watch. Time to get going. _Heaven help me. _"All right then, grab your stuff and let's go."

* * *

They arrived at the bustling mess hall as a group, Eleanor in the midst but the lot of them drawing attentive stares and impressed whistles. The lieutenant held her head high, refusing to show even a hint of the nervousness she very much felt, and led the way in. They were shrugging out of their coats when she heard a beloved Philly drawl calling for her.

"Eh-hey, if it isn't Ellie Fairfax!"

She smiled when the brawny sergeant made a beeline straight for her and swept in to peck her on the cheek. For all his loud mouth and daredevil behavior, Bill Guarnere had a heart of gold and she'd grown very fond of him-colorful antics and all.

"Hey, Bill," she greeted, already more at ease, "Dashing as always, I see."

The boys were undeniably handsome in their Class A uniforms and well aware of it. Bill pretended to dust off his chevrons and winked at her. "You know me." Spotting Joe Toye coming towards them, he waved his friend over. "Hey, Joe, get over here! Look who the cat dragged in."

Toye, like his fellow non-com, was a lot sweeter than one might expect from such a powerfully built guy with a voice as gruff as his. While Eleanor did not doubt he would be fearsome in battle, he always had a smile and a kind word for her. "Eh, lieutenant!" he said, happily surprised to see her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his side warmly. "'s Been too long, babe."

Strictly speaking the behavior of both GIs was far too familiar towards an officer - a female one at that - but then Eleanor found that all of the men walked a fine line between being protective and friendly and duly deferential of her rank. So long as they remained respectful when push came to shove, she did not think of it as a problem. Indeed, she really rather enjoyed the camaraderie.

"Yeah, who we gotta thank for dragging you along, huh?" Guarnere asked. Eleanor motioned to the group of girls standing behind her.

"Take your pick."

"Evenin', ladies!" The boys grinned their blinding grins and Eleanor could almost hear a number of hearts in her unit flutter at their charms. She exchanged a knowing glance with Betty, aware that Edwards was one of the few girls who could resist the men's overtures. It took a lot more than an attractive smile to tempt her, it seemed.

"Any of you want a drink? Yeah? Ol' Gonnorhea'll take care of you." Some of the girls had already moved off to find their respective friends or beaus and Eleanor knew those who remained would be safe with Bill. It eased her persistent worries about the members of her unit significantly.

The sergeant turned to his friend. "Joe, show the lieutenant over to the table, would ya?"

"Only if you're buyin' us a beer!"

Guarnere shot Eleanor a skeptical look and she grinned at him teasingly, shrugging. "What he said."

"What, I look cheap to you?" he exclaimed, ushering them away. "'Course I'm buyin' you a beer, now get!" Chuckling, Eleanor took Joe's arm and let him lead her off, all previous apprehension swept away. _This time, like all times, is a good time, if we but know what do with it. _She smiled up at Toye. _Now, at last, I think I know._

"Howdy, lieutenant!"

Eleanor turned her head to see George Luz trotting up beside her, smiling when Toye raised a dubious eyebrow at the radioman.

"George."

Luz grinned cheekily. "Joe." He turned to Eleanor again. "You wanna dance, Ellie?"

She felt her escort tighten his arm around hers a little and fought back a smirk. Never mind protective, the boys could get darn possessive when they wanted to be. While it would have irked her not too long ago, it made her feel strangely flattered then. "Sorry Luz, not right now."

He stopped in his tracks, calling after her as she continued on to find the rest of the men with Toye. "What, you don't dance, or you don't dance with me?"

"Neither," she threw back at him over her shoulder, "See you later!"

About a dozen or so Easy Co men - mostly first and second platoon, so far as Eleanor could tell - were gathered around two tables that had been pushed together, cards and drinks spread out over the wooden surface. "Hiya, fellas," she acknowledged them, smiling at the deluge of "lieutenant", "ma'am" and "Ellie" directed her way in response. Even if she hadn't been around the mess much, she was a well-known presence around the base and it showed.

"Hey Penk, pull up a chair for the lieutenant," Toye requested, taking her coat and waiting until Penkala had grabbed her a seat before draping it around the back and finding his own.

"Here you go, ma'am," the round-cheeked private said as he helped her settle. She nodded at him appreciatively.

"Thanks, Alex." She looked around the table. "So what are you playing?"

"Poker!" Hoobler grinned, impish smile and pixie-like looks impossibly Puckish as usual. "Wanna join in?"

She remembered the many card games she'd played with the French to pass the time. _I'd probably beat you all into next week. _"Oh, I'm sure I couldn't," she said demurely, picking at a thread in the hem of her sleeve. Johnny Martin laughed, though not unkindly.

"Why, you afraid to lose, lieutenant?"

"No quite," she said, putting on the most innocent expression she could muster, "I wouldn't know how to play."

"No way!" Alton More exclaimed in between puffs of smoke, "You really don't know how?"

"'Fraid so."

"That's all right, ma'am," Penkala reassured her, patting her on the back tentatively until she smiled at him and eased his worries of reprimand, "You can team up with one of us."

"Yeah, we'll help you!" his buddy Muck chimed in excitably. Eleanor scanned the group carefully, considering her options.

"Okay," she said, narrowing her eyes thoughtfully, "Malark?"

Don Malarkey beamed in triumph, very much looking as if he were seconds away from sticking out his tongue at his disappointed friends. "Aw, come on!" Toye piped up at her side, "The Mick? D'ya _want_ to lose?" She didn't bother to point to out to him that he was just as Irish as Malarkey was.

"Why not me?" Hoobler asked at the same time; Eleanor's lips quirked up when she shuffled closer to Malarkey.

"Because I trust Don here to help me take all of your money," she declared ominously, wriggling her eyebrows at them playfully. Laughter resounded around the table.

"Ah, get lost!"

"Careful, she might at that," Bull Randleman warned from around his ever-present cigar, watching her closely. From what Eleanor had seen of the man he was a darn fine soldier and his folksy charm would win just about anyone over. She directed a pleasant smile at him.

"What, getting lost or taking your money?"

"Takin' our money. I've seen it before. Gals like you, pretending you're all innocent-"

"Okay, that's it," Malarkey announced before she had a chance to respond, "You're on."

Eleanor chuckled. "Defending my honor, private?"

"Yes ma'am," he said solemnly, and she felt a surge of affection for him despite the move being utterly uncalled for. "You deal, Martin."

The sergeant was already shuffling the cards, flicking up his eyes in amusement at his friend. "You've done it now, Bull."

Half an hour or so later Malarkey and Eleanor were already on a winning streak. The lieutenant spread their latest hand out before her, smirking devilishly as the others groaned and Don whooped in delight. "Read 'em and weep, boys."

"You wound us, babydoll," Toye sighed, passing his money to Malarkey; Eleanor had refused to take any of it, knowing it wouldn't do for an officer to take anything off the enlisted men and not particularly needing the cash at any rate. Shaking her head and laughing quietly to herself as the redhead gathered up their winnings eagerly, she grabbed her glass and pushed back her chair.

"Anyone want another drink?"

Grant rose to his feet across from her, picking up his own pint. "I'll go with you, ma'am."

"Thanks Chuck," she smiled, waiting for him to join her before beginning to push her way through the crowd of paratroopers. Grant was a likable fellow, steadfast, capable and just plain _nice_. It wasn't a word she used very often - she found it a good deal too bland - but in the case of Charles Grant it definitely applied. The two of them fell into easy conversation as they leaned against the bar and waited for their drinks, discussing the fine art of card tricks and which of his company had the worst poker face. In the background the record on the phonograph changed from the relatively mellow _Oh Johnny _to the more upbeat _Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy_; Eleanor's ears perked up at the familiar opening notes of the bugle call.

Suddenly a whirlwind of khaki made its way over to her and was grabbing her hand. "Hey, lieutenant!" _Oh. Christenson, then._ A little bemused, her eyes flickered between Grant (who looked equally surprised) and the tall private who had so unceremoniously taken hold of her. She opened her mouth to say something-

"Up and at 'em!" Christenson prodded, tugging at her hand in an attempt to hoist her from her seat and towards the improvised dance floor in the middle of the room. _Has he been drinking? _Eleanor flushed scarlet, finally catching on to what he was doing, stammering in protest.

"I-"

Somewhere someone shouted an obscene _swing heil_; the utter absurdity of it had her bursting out into helpless laughter. As the bugle call ceased and the first actual beats of the song started up, she decided to throw caution to the wind for once, too swept up in the moment to care about the consequences. _To hell with it._

As she hopped into the open space that had been reserved for dancing, she flicked out her foot and caught a flash of Christenson's ear-splitting grin just before he spun her into his hold and swept her into a rapid jitterbug. She had thus far been unwavering in her refusal to dance; he was ridiculously lucky to have caught her in an unguarded moment and knew it. More than that, she was turning out to be a pretty ace dancer as well and the two of them were well-matched. He had no trouble guiding her through the various steps and was relieved to find she was able to anticipate the more dangerous of his moves: when he threw up his leg in a rapid spin she shifted down into a crouch quickly so that it could pass over her head without resistance, smirking when he twisted around again to twirl her back up.

_They made him play a bugle for his Uncle Sam..._

Around them the crowd went wild and the assembled men clustered together, pushing and shoving to get a better look. They had never seen the usually reserved ANC lieutenant this elated, this lively, and the catcalls got especially deafening whenever her skirt flared up as she whipped through the dance. To say the whole thing was an unexpected turn of events would have been an understatement of sizable proportions.

Towards the back of the room Harry Welsh climbed onto a chair when he heard his friend's name being shouted, for once - if only temporarily - tall enough to see over the throng of excited GIs. His mouth dropped open when he spotted Eleanor swinging away happily with one of the first platoon boys, unintentionally revealing a glimpse of her stockings when she lunged down and slid her leg out behind her smoothly. Astonished, he tapped Nixon on the shoulder as he passed him his drink; the intelligence officer turned to follow his gaze, eyebrows shooting up when he caught sight of the dancers.

"Did you know about this?" he asked, grinning broadly at the unforeseen display of skill and flashes of undergarments. Beside him Harry - still engrossed by the two people on the dance floor - shook his head vehemently.

"Nope." The lieutenant managed to drag his eyes away long enough to notice Winters standing on Nixon's other side, adequately tall without the chair to see what was going on, a peculiar mixture of awe, perturbation and desire painted clearly on his face. Welsh sniggered. "I don't think Dick did, either."

Nixon laughed as he turned and saw the same look on their friend's face, digging his elbow into the redhead's ribs teasingly. "Don't tell me you're jealous!"

"Hm? What?" Winters answered vaguely, watching as Eleanor playfully sashayed away from Christenson. His colleagues continued to laugh and shook their heads fondly.

"Forget about it."

The song was drawing to an end but Christenson couldn't resist one particularly cheeky move to finish it off. Every performance needed a grand finale, after all. Wishing to high hell he wouldn't get chewed out for it later, he threw Eleanor over his shoulder and twisted her around his back effortlessly until her feet hit the floor again. Wolf-whistles erupted from around the room and her cheeks became a few shades darker than they had already been; she had flashed more than stockings this time.

As the needle scratched off the record the pair were taking a bow for their thrilled audience. Eleanor's color had not decreased in the slightest as she smiled shyly, secretly relishing the attention and praise, and clapped a still grinning Christenson on the back. Offering her his arm, he led her off the floor and back towards the table where she sank into a chair gratefully. Within seconds a full glass of beer had been placed before her.

"Nice moves, ma'am!" Grant gushed, sitting back down across from her. She smiled at him gratefully, taking a long swig of the drink as Talbert leaned over towards her.

"Jesus Christ, lieutenant, why didn't you dance before?"

"I was waiting for the right moment."

"Yeah?" Luz asked, striding over and perching on the edge of the table, "What's that, the moment Christenson decided to sweep you off your feet?" He turned towards his friend, shooting him a look. "I hope you know you're one lucky sonnovabitch, Pat. She turned me down twice already."

"Oh I know," Christenson chuckled, placing a hand on her shoulder, "Another drink, lieutenant?"

"Seems only fair," she nodded, pressing a hand to her flaming cheeks and looking around the group of excitedly murmuring men. _This is sure to keep them preoccupied for a while,_ she thought ruefully, watching them chatter amongst themselves. At least it would give them little time to discuss or even consider her other, more obscure talents.

"Where'd you learn to dance, ma'am?" Lipton smiled, gentle as always, and she considered it for a moment. How on earth was she going to answer that one? _'I used to frequent the Ritz' _was hardly an appropriate response, but then what to tell them?

"I, uh-" she hesitated for a moment, "I took ballet classes before the war started."

Next to Lipton, Smokey Gordon barked out a laugh. "I may not be cultured or nothing, ma'am, but that sure as hell wasn't ballet."

She smiled. "No. I guess I learned that from a friend." _I'm not sure you'd be proud of me or appalled, Feversham, flashing my lingerie at American troopers like that. _"We went to parties a lot."

A chorus of "oohs" and "aahs" went up throughout the group. "Hold up, a _male_ friend?" Skip Muck questioned, eyes dancing mischievously and his wide, apparently toothless grin out in full force.

Eleanor laughed. "That's none of your business, you cheek!"

"Geez, Ellie, you went to parties, boys were teaching you how to dance..." Luz counted on his fingers, pulling a face, "What the hell happened?"

_The war did, that's what. Not much cause to dance when you can barely make it by from day to day._

"I grew up," she said, sobering as the thought crossed her mind abruptly but equally swift to mask it with another teasing remark at the company's resident clown, "You should try it sometime."

Luz, wanting payback, was soon demanding that she dance with him and she found herself agreeing to it. After Luz came Guarnere and Toye; after them, Ed Tipper, Hoob, and Moe Alley. Even shy Shifty Powers, in all his bashful southern glory, asked her to waltz with him; by the end of the evening she was exhausted but euphoric while she saw her girls back to barracks, the echoes of music resounding in the night.

_You make my sad heart jump with joy, and when you're near I can't sit still a minute..._

* * *

"I dream of Ellie with the light brown hair..."

Eleanor laughed at Joe Liebgott's impromptu serenade, smiling when he winked at her while he passed her by. She had seen to it that the girls had returned to their billet and were tucked in for the night, but she had been restless and unable to settle down herself and had decided to take a walk around the snowy compound instead. Somewhere along the way she had run into Easy Company as they too returned to their barracks.

"She's a blonde, you jackass!" Luz shouted after Lieb, blowing a kiss towards where Eleanor was huddled on an old stone wall. He seemed to disregard the fact that Joe hadn't been the only one to sing; no doubt he enjoyed antagonizing the hotheaded man.

"Shaddap, dickwad," Liebgott retorted, and Eleanor was fairly certain she could see him flip the shorter soldier off in the distance. While they usually minded their tongues around her and the rest of her unit, alcohol had weakened their reserve and she was treated to the full force of their foul mouths tonight.

"Language, both of you!" Lipton called, trailing towards the back of the group and shooting her an apologetic look. "Sorry ma'am."

She smiled at him, mollifying. "It's all right, Carwood. Don't worry about it."

"Yes ma'am. Sleep well."

"You too."

Despite the lateness of the hour she remained seated, staring up into the inky black of the night. Small flakes of snow fell down onto her face and stuck to her lashes as she marveled at the loveliness of the heavens, thoughts trailing off to faraway lands. Blinking languidly she heard rather than saw Dick Winters approach, his boots crunching in the snow.

"Ellie? What are you doing out here?"

She turned her head to look at him, surprised. It was the first time he had actually used the nickname and tonight of all nights she was ogling the sky like the famed moon princess of the Dolomites. She blushed, a little abashed at being discovered. "It's silly," she said quietly, shifting her hands underneath her folded arms. "I was looking at the stars."

The lieutenant settled down besides her. "It's not silly," he soothed, voice like rough silk when he smiled at her, "They're beautiful."

Silence stretched on for a moment, but it was not as uncomfortable as it would have been only weeks before. She listened to his steady breathing, the distant sounds of the (largely) sleeping world, and let out a low hum. "You know, it's strange," she mused, elaborating at his inquisitive glance, "We're all looking at the same sky."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Us, the French, the Germans. Even the Japs. No matter the things that tear us apart, we're all under the same sky."

It was true, tragic and hard to grasp though it might be, as well as an impossible statement to respond to-and so he didn't. He noticed her shivering and grew concerned. "You're cold."

A faint smile. "I'm okay."

"Take my jacket, at least."

"Don't be ridiculous, you'll be-" she fell silent when he wrapped his coat around her, his arm lingering around her shoulders a little longer than strictly necessary while he adjusted it. She chuckled softly, admitting defeat. "Stubborn."

He looked down at her, smiling, breath catching slightly when she burrowed into him for warmth. "Always have been."

Sitting there on that wall and looking out at the clear November sky, senses pleasantly overwhelmed by the smell of soap and the feeling of warmth and the sight of star-lit, crystal blue eyes, Eleanor was beginning to think she might have found somewhere to belong after all.


	9. Miss Fairfax Regrets

**Disclaimer: this story is based chiefly on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.**

* * *

_The first time Eleanor had fled France, the Parisian network had been betrayed by one of its own and she had been physically forced out of the city. By that time more than a few of her friends had already died - many of them because of the retaliation to her assassination of an enemy officer - but the worst loss by far was that of her handler. He had sacrificed himself so that she might live; he had quite literally taken a bullet for her and died in her stead. It was something she had never forgotten._

_Upon her return to the continent a few months later, she had been swiftly redeployed to Vichy. She had thrown herself into her work with a vengeance, having arguably become a little unhinged by her loss, and rumors of a fair-haired, fierce-eyed Maquisarde soon began to spread. For a long while she had mostly escaped notice, moving amongst the civilians like a shadow, never quite invisible, never quite tangible and never quite being caught. In the shelter of their safe houses the underground had laughed at the whispers and mocked the already growing reward for information or even her capture. The successes had been so great that she had almost been able to justify and forget the deaths of those under her command. She had seemed - and to an extent had even felt - invincible. _

_Yet there were only so many patrols she had been able to lead, so many strikes against the Germans and the Vichy regime she could have masterminded without someone finding out who she was. Eventually they had caught up with her and her cover had been compromised. The wanted posters had now featured a name and a picture that had resembled her enough to cause concern. Despite the resistance's protests - they had thought her too valuable to let her go - London had insisted she go back to England, at least for the time being._

_She had agreed to go once it had been pointed out to her that her notoriety would only hurt those she worked with-and in the end, she had barely escaped with her life._

_And so she went back and waited. Though there had been work to occupy her in London, life had slowed down enough for the memories and losses to start to catch up with her. When she had finally been sent to Normandy she had already been a changed woman; while the locals had awaited her anxiously and welcomed her warmly, she had been more careful, more cautious. There would be no unnecessary deaths now, she had told herself; no one else would die in her stead or because of something she had done._

_Of course, that hadn't exactly gone to plan. Despite the relative quiet and wariness of the Normandy networks, rumors had once again begun to spread. What had started out as inter-resistance chatter about the return of the Belle Anglaise had soon morphed into reports confirming the German's suspicions that the same operative that had thwarted them so in Vichy had moved northwards and was now operating out of Cherbourg. Their retribution had been swift: the bounty had been raised, the search for her doubled, and one by one the members of the Normandy underground had been picked off until only a handful had been left._

_Once again people had died because of her, and once again she had been forced to flee. There had been no choice but to roll up the network; it had seemed like the persecutions would never end and she would never be able to stop running._

_But then came Aldbourne and everything had changed._

* * *

The sun had barely risen when Eleanor climbed over the fence that demarcated the target range, its pale light filtering through the mist and reflecting off the frost-covered field. It had snowed overnight and the layer of white was as of yet undisturbed and almost frightfully pristine. In the distance she could see some form of small animal - a rabbit, maybe - hopping away and ducking into a hedge with the barest hint of a rustle. She smiled, captivated by the hushed beauty of the early morning. For all its miserable weather England really was very pretty sometimes.

Daintily pulling off her gloves and stashing them in her coat pockets, she fished her gun from her bag and screwed on the silencer with practiced ease. She had been itching to get some training in, but it wouldn't do to disturb the prevailing tranquility-never mind alert anyone to her presence on the range. Her fingers brushed the cold steel of the weapon reverently, feeling its familiar groves and curves. There had been a time when it had been her only source of certainty and comfort, and even now it remained a reassurance to have it in her hands.

She undid the safety, cocked it and breathed out. The motions came back to her as easily as if they were steps in a dance. _Thwack. Thwack. _Two hits, both the slightest bit off center. _Thwack. _Bullseye.

Pleased, she turned around smoothly and aimed at the targets to the side and further away. _Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. _Decent hits, the lot of them. Though she was glad to find she was still a capable shot, it bugged her there were no moving marks to practice on. She knew all too well that her target would be nowhere near as stationary were the situation any different. People ran, dodged. They sure as hell didn't just stand there when someone opened fire on them.

She continued her rehearsal regardless, going through different angles and distances mechanically until she sensed another's presence nearby. Frowning, she clicked the safety back on and undid the suppressor.

"Lieutenant."

Looking up, she found passive but oddly intense dark eyes staring back at her, the rank echoed coolly. "Lieutenant."

Ron Speirs puzzled her somewhat. He didn't frighten her, per say - it took a lot more than a cold look or aloof demeanor to spook her - but there was something about the man that didn't sit well with her, something she couldn't quite explain or rationalize. There was no doubt he was a competent soldier and officer, but the utter lack of concern he seemed to have for both himself and his men disturbed her.

Dread crept up along her spine. _More importantly, how the hell will he react to finding me with a non-regulation gun at 8 in the morning?_

"I thought your unit hadn't started weapons training yet," he remarked casually, apparently not at all bothered by the sight of a nurse wielding a firearm. Of all the answers she had thought possible to receive, this was perhaps the least likely.

"They haven't," she responded warily, returning the gun to her bag as he took a drag from his cigarette. He obviously knew she shouldn't be here, let alone know how to do the things he just saw her do. What was he playing at?

"Then where'd you learn to shoot like that?"

"My father taught me a trick or two."

"I see," he grinned - _actually_ grinned, and wolfish though it was it was a shocker coming from the otherwise enigmatic man - and offered her a smoke. She shook her head wordlessly but met his unwavering gaze without flinching. "Shame you're a medic."

It seemed she had won the battle of wills when he turned away and began to leave. She watched him walk off, flabbergasted by the strange encounter. "Yeah," she muttered, relieved he seemed to be buying her story, "Shame."

_What on earth just happened, and what do I do now?_

* * *

She mulled over the fleeting moments of the chance meeting for the rest of the morning. There had been close calls before, but this had been the first time she had been caught red-handed this way. Would he report her? Would he spread rumors amongst the men? She honestly didn't know, something that disconcerted her a great deal given her previous experience with rumors and idle gossip. They were dangerous things, the both of them; it was one thing the men knew she had been around Europe for a while, but another matter entirely for them to find out exactly what she'd been up to during that time. It could put her mission - as well as the boys themselves - into serious jeopardy if things went awry.

Just before lunch was served, she received word that Colonel Sink wanted to speak to her and the apprehension that had haunted her all day increased exponentially. Things had gone so well until now. She had almost started to feel _good_ again; she had found a reason not to give up, to keep going. Would all of that be taken from her because of a single instance of carelessness? Would Death continue to haunt her and force her to start over once more?

It took considerable effort to stop her hands from shaking when she knocked on Sink's door.

"Colonel?" she called, peeking her head in through the entrance, "You wanted to see me?"

The regimental CO looked up at her from behind his desk. "Yes," he said gravely, and her heart jumped into her throat at the sound of it, "Come on in, lieutenant."

She stepped into his office, managing to salute him neatly despite her raging nerves. It was an actual relief to stand at attention; it meant she could clasp her hands behind her back to hide them from his sight. Her jaw clenched when the colonel sighed.

"I'm not gon' beat around the bush here, girl."

_Oh, Jesus Christ, this is bad whatever way you put it. _She had no idea what he knew or what he was planning to do; the precariousness of the situation was almost driving her insane.

"Sir?" she asked, feigning innocence.

"There's something you're not telling me, and I don't appreciate it."

_It could just be Nancy and Tab's affair. It could be any of the less than platonic dalliances I've allowed. _She bit down on the inside of her cheek. _Damn it, why did I allow myself to get so soft?_

"Sir, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Dishonesty won't do, lieutenant," Sink snapped. Eleanor fought the urge to wince. Bad enough that she had let herself slip this much already; she really didn't want to come across as a chastised school girl to boot. The colonel scowled at her dourly.

"How long have you been an operative?"

She felt like disappearing into a nice, deep hole in the ground, but kept her face blank and lowered her voice to keep it even. _Play along. Pretend. Pass it off. _"I joined the OSS in July of this year, sir. I thought you knew."

"And before that?"

_Shit._

"I worked as a nurse with the Red Cross, sir. My records should reflect that."

"To hell with the records, girl!" he thundered, and she couldn't help but flinch then, "I need to know I'm not putting my regiment at risk by having you here. Now who did you work for?"

Realization hit her like a ton of bricks. _He thinks I may be a double agent. _The inappropriate urge to laugh almost overwhelmed her. _Good God. _

"The SOE, sir," she answered quietly, unleashing a breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding. Surely having one more person know couldn't hurt, could it? It's not like she had much of a choice.

Sink frowned. "British Special Ops?"

"Yes, sir," she nodded, "I can give you a contact in London should you want to verify that."

The fight seemed to go out of the colonel instantly, soon to be replaced by astonishment. "Goddamn," he remarked, eyebrows raised, "You work in France?" Another nod on her part. She might as well play it straight now. "Why'd they pull you?"

"Notoriety, sir," she replied frankly, corner of quirking up at his almost comic look of incredulity-though it was more a grimace than the smile she'd originally intended. "By ways of half-a-million francs worth of reward, sir," she elaborated, "I, uh-" she cleared her throat a little awkwardly, none too comfortable about relying this particular piece of information, "I became a liability to the network."

_Can't do the job when everyone else is getting killed because of you._

"God_damn_!" Sink exclaimed, leaning back in his chair, "Donovan enlisted you to assist with the invasion." It was more of a statement than a question. "General Taylor know about this?"

"Yes sir. He and his staff are the only ones within the division." Well, at least they had been until Sink seemed to have put two and two together. It was true that she had been ordered by several of the higher ups to keep her past on a strictly need to know basis - having people know would only complicate her current mission and raise the risk of discovery once she returned to France - but she felt like she could include the commanding officer of the regiment she was attached to on that list. He had proven himself a respectable leader; he deserved to know what was going on.

She just hoped he would have the common sense not to insist on exposing her further. _Look where that got me before. _The last thing she wanted was to go over his head and bring down high command on him to ensure his silence. It would certainly mean a transfer for her - hell, the current situation might still result in a transfer even if he _didn't_ spread the information - and she would hate to throw away all she had achieved over the past few months.

In all honestly, she was mainly loathe to leave her friends behind.

"That wasn't what I was expecting," Sink commented. She shook her head.

"I'd imagine not, sir."

The colonel rose to his feet and moved over towards a cabinet by his side. "How's about a drink, huh?" he asked, rifling through to find a bottle of liquor. Eleanor smiled, somewhat amused by the sudden change in his demeanor. _Not a moment ago he suspected me of being an enemy spy, and now he's offering me a drink. _She blinked bemusedly. _Men._

"I could do with one, sir," she replied, and it was true; a little alcohol could go a long way in calming a person and goodness knew she needed some soothing. Sink mentioned towards the chair at the opposite side of his desk as he poured them two generous measures of bourbon.

"Have a seat."

Eleanor did as she was ordered, crossing her legs at the ankles and placing her clasped hands in her lap. Time to try and straighten out this mess. "Sir, I must ask. How did you know?"

Passing one of the glasses to her, Sink sat back down and watched her sip the amber liquid. "Rumors. Observation." He swirled his own drink around. "I like to think I know my own regiment, lieutenant."

The fact that he had reverted back to her official title wasn't lost on her. _That's a good start. Those rumors, however..._

"Yes sir." Her index finger slid along the smooth surface of the glass. "I think you can understand the need for secrecy, sir," she said, a little tentatively, "The less people who know about my past the better."

She watched him take it in, consider it. Not only would it put her and the mission at risk, it would also put the men in danger if they knew. That was perhaps what concerned her most; she could not bear the thought of more people getting hurt because of her. To her relief, Sink was nodding.

"Can't have them spouting off about your whereabouts."

"No, sir."

_Thank everything holy. He won't tell. _Still, he seemed pensive.

"You must have bothered Jerry an awful lot for them to slap a prize like that on your head."

_You wouldn't believe it even if I told you. _"Just doing my job, sir."

He looked at her, appraising, a new found respect reflected in his sharp eyes. "Well, I sure hope you continue to do so." Taking a drink from his bourbon, he changed the topic. "You pick your team yet?"

It was a fair enough question and a moment she had always known would be coming, yet the answer wasn't easy; after all, how would she be able to ask the girls she had grown so fond of and felt so responsible for to risk everything in the service of their country and follow her into combat? "I think so, sir. I was planning on telling them soon."

"They're receiving their commissions tomorrow, Eleanor."

"Very soon, sir."

"See to it that you do. They're good girls, lieutenant."

_Like I don't know that. Like I'm not aware of the risks they'll face. _She frowned. _You honestly think I enjoy any of this?_

"Sir, might I make a request?"

"You may try."

"Yes sir. I know those who aren't getting recruited were meant to join the rest of the 326th after Christmas, but I was thinking-I was hoping they could stay in Aldbourne. We already have the facilities, and it'd be less disruptive to the unit." _I also really don't want them to go._

"Not to mention your cover."

"Yes sir."

Sink smiled. "I don't think it'd hurt to have a few extra frontline nurses, do you?"

"No sir."

_So long as you keep them off the actual front when you can. _She downed the remnant of her drink. _I have caused and will cause enough death as it is._

* * *

Stepping out of the regimental headquarters, Eleanor remained shaken despite having averted what could have been a major disaster. Sink had dismissed her with the repeated reassurance that he would keep her background a secret and she was glad of it, but the whole incident had brought up a number of issues and memories she'd much preferred buried and out of sight.

_I keep on getting people killed. I'll always end up alone._

She pushed past Captain Hester when he greeted her, too deep in thought to realize he'd said hello, and walked towards the nurses' barracks on autopilot. Her own death was something she had long ago accepted as inevitable; the prospect of it didn't bother her too much and was something she could deal with. It was the tendency of people she cared about getting hurt which disturbed her. _You did this_, the ghosts of her French compatriots accused her, _you're to blame._

She shook her head, desperate to clear her mind of the unwanted recollections. While she had narrowly managed to prevent the public knowledge of her identity from putting others in danger - at least for now - she was still about to tell a group of young, innocent women they would be expected to follow her into danger. She did not like it in the slightest.

When she reached the ANC billet she froze in her tracks. A few of the girls were outside, smoking cigarettes and chatting away unguardedly. Her heart ached at the sight of them. What on earth was she to tell them? How could they ever trust her to keep them safe? What was she to do?

"Hey, Elle."

She didn't look up at the sound of Winters' voice, remaining rigid in her observation. "Hi."

"Graduation day tomorrow, huh?" he asked amiably, walking up to stand beside her. She hummed softly; he seemed to have a knack for catching her in the midst of doubts and ruminations.

"You must be proud of them."

"Yeah," she responded vaguely, mentally running over ways to break the news to the chosen few. _Hey, remember how you said you joined the nursing corps for the adventure it promised? Well, guess what, we're about to paint a target on your back and put you on the frontline-how's that for a challenge?_

Eleanor startled at the sudden feeling of a hand on her arm.

"Are you all right?"

Winters' worry only antagonized her already frazzled temper. _Don't concern yourself with me. You'll just end up dead. _"I'm fine," she ground out, shying away from his touch.

"You don't sound fine," Winters countered, "What's wrong, Ellie?"

"I've been asked to pick ten of the girls and train them as vanguard nurses," she recited without thinking, unable to keep the bite out of her voice.

He frowned. "Vanguard nurses?"

"Frontline nurses, female medics, whichever," she said brusquely, "We'll be working at the aid stations."

"How-" he shook his head, "You'd be practically on the front."

She sighed, shooting him a look that clearly said _no shit, Sherlock._ "Just about, yes."

The lieutenant seemed deeply disturbed by the news-not to mention her apparent indifference toward it. "You'd be in constant danger!"

_That's rich, coming from a paratrooper! _Her ire rising, she glared at him disdainfully. "So will you. Are you saying we can't risk our lives simply because we're women?"

"You could die, Ellie," he protested, the most perturbed she had ever seen him. Though she felt bad about it, she was too wound up to let it go and shrugged carelessly at his unease.

"Wouldn't be the first time a nurse got killed in the line of duty, you know."

"But this assignment-why you? Can't you object to it?"

She laughed scornfully. "They're orders, Dick, I can't very well ignore them." Pulling off her garrison cap she began to move towards the barracks, already back to planning her announcement. His voice, quiet and just a little sad, made her pause briefly.

"None of you signed up for this."

"You think I don't know that?" she snapped, eyes flaring as she spun to face him. "It's not like-I don't _want_ to-" She broke off, swallowed thickly. _If only you knew. _"Excuse me, I've got to go talk to them."

With that she turned abruptly and went on her way, leaving him to stare after her, conflicted.

* * *

_Breathe in. Breathe out._

"Betty," she called, nodding at the nurse - her friend - when the other woman looked up to face her. "Do me favor and get Katie, Anne, Maria, Gale, Evelyn, Sara, Grace, Judy and Meg to come to my office straight away. Oh, and join them once you have."

Edwards complied without question, already moving to find the girls Eleanor had named when the lieutenant set off towards her cubicle. It didn't take her long to find them; with minutes all ten had gathered in front of Eleanor's desk, expressions ranging from worried to inquisitive. None of them had any clue as to why they had been called in to see her, much like she hadn't had any true indication of why Sink had wanted to speak to her not long before then. She had appreciated Sink's direct manner of confrontation, however, and decided to use a similar approach.

_Breathe in, breathe out. You can do this._

"Listen, girls, I've got something to tell you." _Breathe out. _"I'm assuming you've heard of the Office of Strategic Services."_  
_

"They're spies, right?" Anne spoke up from the back, folding her arms self-consciously when a few of the others turned to look at her, "Clandestine agents?"

Eleanor nodded. "That's right. They're an intelligence organization working behind enemy lines. Their people are trained to blend in with the civilian populace-"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but why are you telling us this?" Grace wondered out loud, obviously perplexed. Eleanor was tempted to remind her that patience was indeed a virtue, but decided to push on with her announcement instead.

"Because I'm one of them."

Gasps, hushed murmurs, succeeded by stunned silence. Eleanor felt suddenly lightheaded and had to lean against her desk to regain her balance.

"But you're a nurse," Maria croaked, bravely voicing what a lot of the others were no doubt thinking, "You _are_ a nurse, aren't you?"

Eleanor managed a small smile. "Don't worry, I am."

"That doesn't make sense. How can you be both a nurse and a spy?"

"Women, especially nurses, are treated better when captured," Eleanor explained, leaving out the part about that not always ringing true in the field. "I've also spent the last few years working in Europe, so I know the area. The OSS needed someone with that kind of experience to work for them when the invasion rolls around."

"Then what are you doing here?" Katie shook her head. "I still don't understand why you're telling us this, ma'am."

"I need a team to back me up."

"And you're asking us to be on that team."

"Yes," Eleanor said quietly, briefly closing her eyes, "You've all proven your worth as medics, and an ability to keep cool under pressure, which is exactly what I'm looking for." _It doesn't hurt that most of you have a passable knowledge of French or German, either. _

Glances were exchanged. "If-" Betty this time, ever the practical thinker, "If we were to say yes, what would that mean?"

"You would receive additional instruction-wireless operation, cryptography and so forth, as well as some extra PT and weapons practice."

"And once we get to the front?"

"You'd help me gather and disseminate intelligence, decipher coded messages and liaise with the local resistance. You'd be traveling with HQ and working at the aid stations whenever you're not on OSS business."

"So we'd be on our side of the line."

"Yes, when we can help it," Eleanor said, "But things will move swiftly. If we do get overrun, the nursing will act as a protective measure-both for you and any sensitive intelligence you might possess." _Really you're part experiment, part human shield... and altogether groundbreaking._

Evelyn was nodding slowly. "What about the others?"

"They were originally meant to join up with the rest of the 326th after Christmas, but I've convinced Colonel Sink to let them stay in Aldbourne. They'll receive the same advanced nursing training you'll be getting."

Silence, once again, and Eleanor realized this was the crucial point that everything would hinge upon. She observed her girls wordlessly, letting them whisper amongst themselves, watching as they agreed to let Betty take the lead once they had made their decision.

"Okay," Edwards stated, matter-of-fact, "Where do we sign up?"

The completely straightforward, utterly uncomplicated answer knocked the breath out of Eleanor's lungs. She had expected opposition, concerns, more questions at the very least, but they seemed to be unanimous in their determination to go along with what she was asking of them. Their bravery and resolve pleased her beyond belief yet equally unsettled her.

"No, no, hold on," Eleanor faltered, hands clenching around the wooden top of her desk, "I want you to think about this. This is more than you ever agreed to do before. You'd be _on_ the front-not just behind it, _on_ it. You might very well come under fire, and you will certainly be in danger."

Maria smiled. "Ma'am, due respect, but we don't need to think about it."

A couple were nodding their heads in agreement and all of them mirrored Maria's smile. "Yeah," Grace concurred, "We'd follow you anywhere, lieutenant."

Eleanor's throat constricted, and she had to look away to keep herself from crumbling completely.

_Breathe in, breathe out_.

"And we want to help," Gale continued, "If that means facing the same hell the fellas will, so be it."

Eleanor looked around the room, taking in their precious faces one by one. _You're breaking my heart, and yet I could't be more proud._ "Are you certain?"

There was a round of "yes ma'am", and the officer got up to show them out. "All right. Should you change your mind at any point, I want you to know you'll be allowed to back out without reprimand or shame." She smiled in thanks when Betty rubbed her shoulder comfortingly. "And I promise you-I _swear_ to you," she said, vehemently, "That I will do what I can to keep you safe."

"We know, lieutenant."

* * *

The moment they were out of her office and the door was closed, Eleanor's legs gave out. She slid down against the wall, closing her eyes and focusing on getting her breathing back under control. _They said yes. All of them said yes, without hesitation, because they believe me._

She swiped a trembling hand across her eyes, unsurprised when they came away moist. _I don't deserve this._

Pushing herself upright when she had finally managed to compose herself somewhat, she decided she needed time to find her equilibrium again. It had been an awfully long day and she craved some peace and quiet; the local church was without a doubt the best place to find it.

* * *

_Set me as a seal upon thine heart; set me as a seal upon thy arm..._

That evening Eleanor prayed, selfishly, for her friends to survive; for her girls to live and the men to make it through, and for the war to end. For all her doubts (_it never ends_) and disbeliefs (_who is to say God is on our side to begin with?_), it was the only thing that seemed right in that moment, and so she bowed her head and folded her hands as the choir sang its hymns. She never even noticed the redhead in the back of the pews, watching her with concern and compassion.

When the service was over and the bells were beginning to toll, the sky had already darkened and the first few stars were shyly making their appearance. Eleanor hunched into her greatcoat, deep in thought but already feeling calmer, and was ready to head back to the base when she heard a voice call her name.

"Ellie?"

Looking around, she found Dick Winters' handsome face amongst the crowd of church goers leaving the building. _Starry skies, the local church and a bit of introspection. _She smiled as the greeted him, following him out of the churchyard without question. These days both of them just assumed they would walk back together. _We've got to stop meeting like this._

"I'm sorry about before," he said, referring to their meeting earlier that day. She felt guilty he was the one to express regret when she had been the one to lose her temper.

"There's no need to apologize," she assured him, looking down and focusing on the sludge sticking to her court shoes. _By rights, __I should be the one to do so. _The thought remained unspoken.

"It's just-" he broke off, hesitating, and she glanced up at him with a frown. It wasn't like him to be lost for words. His eyes met hers and her heart skipped a beat when she realized there was just a hint of pain in them. "The thought of you so close to combat-"

She wasn't sure if he meant her personally or her entire unit, but the fact that he was quite so concerned startled her all the same. The need to reassure him was suddenly irrepressible, even if he still only knew half the story. "We're here to serve, Dick," she reminded him gently, "As much as any of you are."

"I know, and I respect that," he sighed, "But it doesn't mean I have to like it."

_Ah, the ongoing duality._ She knew it wasn't easy for the men to accept her as an officer as well as a friend, nor for them to contend with the knowledge that her unit was going to war as surely as any of the others were. Finding a balance between the esteem that girls' positions demanded and the inherent sense of chivalry a lot of the men seemed to possess was tricky at best. It seemed Dick was no exception to that rule, more so now that he knew of their proximity to the fighting.

"I suppose not," she pondered out loud, folding her arms. _God knows I don't. I'd much rather keep the girls in a well-supplied, well-heated, relatively secure hospital for the duration of the war. _Silence stretched between them for a beat before he cleared his throat.

"How'd it go?"

Eleanor shook her head, thinking back to the moment when the girls had united in their unequivocal assent, eyes unintentionally welling up again as she remembered. "They said yes," she said, smiling thinly as their gazes met, "Each and every one of them."

It didn't seem to surprise him in the least. "They trust you," he observed, returning her smile. His attempt at comfort didn't assuage her worries for them much, but she appreciated the effort; it was sweet of him to try.

"Yeah. That's what scares me."

"It shouldn't," he said, candidly, "They're smart enough to know they can rely on you." Noticing her lingering doubts, he added, quietly, "You'll get them home somehow. I know you will."

"We'll see."

Eleanor felt her heart thumping and a lump form in her throat, knowing she was starting to panic as all the old fears resurfaced. There was something in Dick Winters' eyes that resembled hope to her; the whispered promise of a future, happy and healthy and away from war, an outline of the beatific woman she was meant to be rather than the conflicted operative she was now. It terrified her. Her own mortality she could handle, but the sudden appearance of _hope_ and _love_ and _future_ in a world that had previously only known one constant - that of death - had her on the edge of delirium. She knew that it could all be taken away from her at any moment-that some of it might end up being her own fault at that. It certainly had been in the past.

So much was uncertain; so much was at stake. For all they knew - for all _she _knew - they might all be dead within months. Then again, they might not be. She had made it through thus far-might that not mean she had dodged the proverbial bullet with her name on it, or did it imply the opposite and had her chances of getting killed only increased? But then that was by no means the worst of it; what about her unit? What about Easy Company? How many of them would live to see the end of this damned war, if there was ever to be an end to it at all? How many would she end up getting killed before then?

_Christ, how many will even make it through D-Day?_

Part of her was screaming to get away as fast as she could, to run as she had before. There had been so much death already-so much hurt. If she left now she might still be able to salvage some remnants, perhaps save a few lives. It would surely be better for everyone involved if she just disappeared.

Yet there was no denying that her initial attempts at keeping her distance from the men and women of the 506th had failed spectacularly and that as much as she might try, abandoning them now was really not an option. She was in too deep to force herself into uncaring; whatever happened next she would never not fear for them, never not worry. Then there was the ever-increasing part of her that longed for the chance of finding some form of happiness after the war, that yearned for the affection and sense of belonging her new friends provided. She was tired of running. All she really wanted was the warmth and security of a home, no matter how brief, even - some horrendously selfish part of her whispered - if it meant potentially putting those that constituted it at risk.

"Dick?" she murmured, balling her hands into fists underneath her folded arms. It was a small miracle she had managed to keep her voice more or less steady thus far; even more so that she was able to force a smile when he turned to her. "What will you do?"

He seemed confused. "Once you get home, I mean," she clarified, attempting to sound casual about it, watching as he frowned in bemusement.

"You have no trouble admitting nurses get killed, but you're expecting me to survive?"

_I have to. I can't bear the thought of you dying. _"Just..." she swallowed, "Humor me." She bit her lip. "Please?"

"Okay." He appeared no less bewildered by her odd request than he had previously been, but for some reason decided to indulge her regardless. "I, uh-" he blinked, considering his answer, "I'd probably go back to Pennsylvania. Find myself a piece of land to live on."

Eleanor smiled weakly. "That sounds good."

"Yeah," he returned her smile, but the concern that marred the gesture made her heart ache. "Yeah, it does."

"Tell me more?" she asked, and he was truly nonplussed now.

"About what?"

"Anything," she said, desperation creeping into her voice, "I don't know. What-what your house will look like. The smell of rain on the cornfields. The Amish in their rickety carriages." She looked up at him, blue eyes pleading and just a little too bright under the wan light of the moon. She needed something to hold on to. She needed to hear him say it. "Anything."

And he did. He told her about endless fields of green and gold, as far as the eye could see; he told her about little streams crossed by covered bridges and white-washed farmhouses. Listening to his hushed, wistful voice as he talked about his home she could almost see it before her when she closed her eyes. Slowly, she began to relax, previous fears giving way to the sanctuary of his presence. Her arms uncrossed, falling down by her sides; her posture loosened, unwound.

_Set me as a seal upon thine heart, a seal upon thine arm..._

He paused only briefly when her gloved hand brushed his, resuming his story as he clasped it without a second thought. She responded in kind and held on tight.

_For love is as strong as death._


	10. I'll Be Home For Christmas

**Disclaimer: this story is based solely on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.**

**

* * *

**

_Eleanor had grown up hearing stories about how, during the Great War, the artillery around the Belgian town of Ypres had fallen silent one cold Christmas night. A mutual truce had been agreed upon: casualties had been brought back behind the lines, joint services had been held and small gifts - from food and drink to buttons and hats - had been exchanged. Some even claimed a football match had taken place. For a blessed few hours, two opposing armies had laid aside their weapons and celebrated the season in peace. It had been a gesture of civility, of mutual respect and the shared kinship of all mankind, and was something that would never be forgotten._

_For her part, Eleanor had never known such extraordinary occurrences first hand. Her first war-time Christmas had been pleasant enough, spent amongst friends in a London that had not yet begun to truly suffer under the duress of conflict. A year later she had found herself in the highlands of Scotland, surrounded mostly by strangers, and by God, those days had been cold; she had thought then, moping childishly, that no holiday could possibly be worse._

_Needless to say, she had been wrong. She had been in France for the two years after that, scrounging whatever remotely festive items she could find and learning French carols to pass the time. They hadn't been particularly awful celebrations; things certainly could have been a lot worse. There had been fires to keep her warm and friends to keep her company, and in the end the days had passed without any major incidences. Still, they had been kept on their toes by reports of sporadic violence and potential reprisals; there had been no rest for the merry gentlemen of the maquis. _

_Christmas should be about family, friendship and peace. War was perhaps the very furthest away one could get from it._

_

* * *

_

"Deck the halls with bows of holly..."

A bright December morning found the nurses of the 101st Airborne's ANC unit singing cheerfully as they decorated the hallways of their regimental base. Eleanor, balancing precariously on a chair, was attempting to attach a garland to the wall, groaning when it slipped down for the umpteenth time.

"Fa-la-la-la-la, a little higher please!" she joined in with the carol easily, voice loud enough to carry over the original lyrics. She shot a jokingly ominous look at the girls who had been holding the decoration up, their song interrupted as they burst into laughter.

"Yes, ma'am!"

A little boost up and the first lieutenant was able to stick the ornament in place, leaning back to admire her handiwork before hopping off the chair to rifle through one of the supply boxes. Between the USO's contribution, a few donations from the locals and some skillful scrounging and improvisation from Eleanor, they would have enough to decorate most of the camp. It had been a plan long in the making and carefully executed from the moment the men had left for the fields; now that it was almost coming to fruition, the girls were almost giddy with excitement.

"The boys'll be thrilled when they get back from their exercises!" Judy enthused, smiling at Eleanor as she passed her by, arms full of ivy to arrange on the windowsills.

"Let's hope so," Eleanor agreed, locating a strand of shiny material nearby but too far away to actually grab it. She appealed to Anne instead. "Could you pass me some more of that tinsel?" The stuff was tossed at her deftly, rustling as her fingers wrapped around it. "Thanks."

A blast of icy wind snuck past them when Betty Edwards came in through the door, stomping her feet to warm them and get rid of the ice clinging to it. "Heads up, lieutenant, Colonel Sink is headed this way." she warned, walking up towards the rest of the group.

Eleanor nodded, straightening out and brushing strands of silver off her uniform. "You heard her, girls, look alive." There was a bustle as they rushed to make themselves and as much of the area as they could presentable, and sure enough, Bob Sink pushed through the portal within seconds. "Ten-hut!"

The colonel, followed by one of his orderlies, looked pleased as the nurses snapped to attention dutifully. "At ease, ladies," he smiled, inclining his head at Eleanor, "Lieutenant Fairfax."

She clasped her hands behind her back. "Yes sir?"

"I've just returned from inspecting the troops. They'll be returning soon."

"We know, sir."

Sink looked positively playful, eyes glinting with good humor. "Think you can get the entire base done before they do?"

As tempting as giving in to the lightness of the mood was, Eleanor fought down her own smile, keeping her expression carefully blank. "Yes, sir," she replied, the very picture of military professionalism, "The entire unit's been dispatched to decorate - there's teams of two working on each barrack, and we've already finished the mess and infirmary."

It sounded like a situation report as intended, and she could hear the girls suppressing giggles behind her. Sink chuckled. "I see. What about HQ?"

"Our primary objective after we finish this hallway, sir."

"Very good, then," the CO turned towards the rest of the nurses. "Excellent work, ladies. We'll have ourselves a merry Christmas, won't we?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Thank you, sir!"

Once Sink had left, the girls returned to their decorating, determined to finish up the hall soon so they could move on to headquarters as promised. While they had purposefully left the old country house until the last - compared to the simple barracks and plain buildings of the rest of the base, it was down right pretty to look at - they wouldn't just let it fall by the wayside.

"We should ask him to be Santa at the party tonight," Katie opined, referring to the colonel, "Don't you think he'd be marvelous?"

Eleanor tried to imagine the stern military man dressed up as Father Christmas and grinned. Although the men would no doubt find it hysterical, he would surely terrify any children he came across. There was something inherently wrong about the image of a gun-toting, orders-barking Santa, and she didn't even want to consider who his elves would be.

She shook her head, amused. "Maybe next year, Katie."

The remark had passed her lips before she'd even had the time to think about it properly. Next year was a long way away these days and she knew it; the flippant assumption that they'd be there to see it surprised even herself.

Maria was unruffled. "Heaven knows where we'll be by then."

"The war might even be over!"

To Eleanor's relief, the comment brought about laughter rather than melancholic contemplation. It could have very easily gone otherwise; all of these girls were miles away from their homes and families, stuck in a strange country and preparing for their deployment into unprecedented circumstances. She wouldn't have blamed them for feeling a bit forlorn or lost, but as it was, they were skipping about happily as they tacked the last garlands to the wall.

"Joy to the world!" Gale exclaimed, sweeping out her arms in a grand gesture as if to encompass the entire globe.

"And peace be on earth!" Anne added, smirking.

Eleanor smiled. "Amen."

* * *

As her primary team filed out to head to the regimental headquarters, Eleanor was surprised to see Nancy Campbell shuffle inside. The young nurse fidgeted with her coat a little as her CO packed up the last of the boxes and waited patiently until she had plucked up the courage to speak.

"Ma'am, can I ask you something?" she said eventually, and Eleanor stood up right to look her in the eye.

"Of course, Nancy."

"I-" she licked her lips, "I overheard Betty talking to Margaret the other day."

Eleanor quirked an eyebrow at her. _Nancy Campbell, I never would have thought. _"You were eavesdropping."

Nancy flushed scarlet. "No!" she protested, then frowned and admitted, "Yes." She shuffled her feet, stared down at the floor. "They were talking about some kind of special training- about working with you on the front."

_Oh, hell. If they've managed to spread rumors like this already, I'd better tell them to mind their tongues from now on._

"I want to join."

_Did she just-_

The out of the blue remark ripped Eleanor out of her thoughts brusquely. "I beg your pardon?"

Campbell squared her shoulders, resolutely meeting Eleanor's shocked gaze. "I want to join, ma'am."

"Did you overhear their entire conversation?" Eleanor asked, baffled. To say this was unexpected was a massive understatement. Nancy had always been meek, a little naive and silly. She was clever enough, certainly, and a capable and level-headed caregiver, but she was young- so _very_ young.

The girl nodded, mutely. "Yes ma'am."

"So you know what the work really entails."

"I think so, ma'am."

_Good God. Little Nancy Campbell wants to be a spy._

"And you understand the risks?" Another nod; Eleanor sighed. How was she supposed to respond to this? Besides the fact that she had already chosen her team, there had obviously been a reason she hadn't picked Nancy to be on it to begin with. She lacked the confidence and quite possibly the maturity to do the kind of work Eleanor would expect from her squad.

And yet- she had grown a lot already. She did show promise. She _did_ have talent. Perhaps most importantly, she had willingly volunteered, and while she might not understand the full extent of what she was asking, it was nevertheless admirable.

"I'll think about it. Come on, we've got halls to deck."

"Ma'am, please!" Eleanor stopped in her tracks and turned around, putting the crate she had picked up back down. This was evidently going to take a little longer than anticipated.

"You and the girls are the closest thing I have to family here," Nancy said quietly, slumping down on a bench along the wall. Her big brown eyes bored into Eleanor pleadingly. "Let me help."

Moved as she was, the first lieutenant couldn't just give in like that. "Like I said, I'll consider it," she reiterated, tilting her head as she noticed the faraway look in her subordinate's gaze. "Hey," she called gently, sitting down next to her, "You all right?"

"I'm okay," Campbell muttered, "I just-" she exhaled softly, "I miss home, ma'am."

_Of course you do, sweetheart._

Eleanor leaned back against the wall, genuinely sorry for the poor girl. "Yeah," she said, blinking up at the light flickering overhead, "Yeah, so do I." She smiled a little, leaning her shoulder against Nancy's. "Where are you from, kiddo?"

"Hartford, Wisconsin, ma'am."

_Hartford. Name rings a bell. _"That's near Port Washington, isn't it?"

Campbell looked up, astonished that the officer seemed familiar with it. "It is," she affirmed, "Have you ever been to Wisconsin?"

"Sadly, no, but I have a friend who's from around there." It wasn't entirely true, but it mattered little. "You hear from your parents recently?"

"They sent me a Christmas card." A small smile crept onto Nancy's face, and Eleanor was glad to see her perking up already. "It was about a week early."

Eleanor chuckled. "Gracious me, they must have sent it ages ago."

"I'm their only child," Nancy explained, "They're cautious."

"I bet." _I'm one of two and my parents still treated me as if I were made of glass sometimes. _She patted the younger nurse's thigh. "How about you go write your parents, hey? I'm sure they'd love to hear from you."

"I know they would," Nancy agreed, smiling as Eleanor offered her a hand up, "Do you know where I could get stamps?"

Glancing at her watch, Eleanor realized it was coming up on lunchtime rapidly. "The post office in town's just closed," she observed, "But you can give it a try later."

"Thanks, ma'am," Campbell's hand was already on the door knob, "For everything." She left, seeming in better spirits and more relaxed, and while Eleanor was still in dubio about her request, knowing that she was at least feeling better made all the difference.

Humming a random little tune to herself, the operative once again prepared to pack up and move to headquarters when another voice spoke up from the other side of the hall.

"Touching."

Her head snapping up, she saw Nixon leaning against the faraway wall, having appeared from out of nowhere. _When did he get here? _It was quite clear he would have used the other entrance, but it still bugged her that she hadn't noticed him before then. She shot him a doubtful look in response to his earlier statement.

"No, really," he said, sauntering over towards her, "It's touching how devoted they are to you."

"There's no need for sarcasm, Lew," she told him drily, but inwardly wondered just how much he had heard. _I really need to tell them to mind their words. _To her surprise, there was no follow up, no continued raillery. She frowned. "You weren't being sarcastic?

He grinned. "Give the kid a prize!"

"Huh," she remarked, raising her eyebrows, "You think you know a guy." Eager to move away from what he may or may not have heard, she changed the topic. "Any of the others back yet?"

"They will be, soon." The intelligence officer looked around the area, appraising the decorations with a trained eye. "Hell of a thing you did here, Ellie."

She shrugged, rubbing her nose unconsciously. "It's just some decorations."

"Yeah, but clearly the operation wasn't without its casualties." He reached out and touched her head, much to her disconcertment. "You've got tinsel in your hair."

There was indeed a strand of the silver material in the hand he held up to her, and she huffed an annoyed sigh. "Ugh, the stuff gets everywhere." Momentarily preoccupied with finding more wayward bits of embellishment, it took her a moment to realize he was staring at her. "Lew?"

"You really miss it?" His voice was uncharacteristically unaffected, his demeanor strangely downcast.

"Miss what?"

"You know," he gestured vaguely, "Home. Your family."

_It appears dear Nancy wasn't the only one feeling a little homesick, huh?_

"Yeah, I do," she answered, softening, "My brother, mostly."

"He's still in Louisiana, isn't he?"

"Uh-huh." Her fingers skimmed the edge of the box, thoughtful. She still hadn't heard back from Philip and wondered briefly if her letter had even arrived. "What about you?"

"Oh, yeah," the old scorn was back in full force so abruptly it almost made her flinch, "The fancy dinners, the bickering. Christmas isn't the same without it."

She looked at him in compassion, smiling sadly. "That bad, huh?"

"Worse. Why do you think I joined the army?"

This time, she did wince, the utter bleakness of his confession tugging at her heart strings. _Seems like both of us know a thing or two about complicated family situations._ She reached out and rubbed his arm. "I'm sorry, Nix."

"Nah, don't be," he grinned, but it was brittle and she could almost see his usual defenses slam back into place, "There's no need."

Eleanor pressed on. "What about your little girl? You don't miss her?"

Any traces of humor drained from his face immediately, leaving it devoid of emotion and hollow looking. "I haven't seen her in over a year," he said, monotonously, "She probably won't even remember me."

"Sure she does," Eleanor tried to revive his mood, "You're her father. Girls don't forget their daddy."

He grimaced. "Hell of a father I am."

_Aw, Nix. _For all his self-possessed sophistication and biting wit, despite all of his problems - and God knew they were many, alcohol not least among them - he really was a decent sort of man. If only he would believe it sometimes. Worshipping the very ground Dick Winters walked on seemed to come more easily to him than acknowledging he wasn't a half-bad person himself.

"You're a good guy, Lew," she murmured, "Don't let anybody tell you otherwise." She shook her head. "As for family, well... we may not be up to your standards, but what we lack in civilization we make up for in enthusiasm, don't you think?"

He smiled faintly, the sincerest she had ever seen him look, and she bumped her hip into his side once she had picked up her box again. "I gotta go light up a tree. I'll see you tonight, okay?"

"Yeah," he answered vaguely, then seemed to shake himself from his daze and promptly took her cargo from her, insisting he would carry it. They walked to headquarters together, relishing the warmth of companionship and the knowledge that despite it all, there would always be someone there for them.

That's what family was for, after all.

* * *

Decorations done and lunch almost over with, Eleanor went to find Easy Company. She had gathered a sufficient amount of small gifts over the past few weeks with the intention of handing them out to the citizens of Aldbourne; a kind of 'thank you for putting up with our hijinks' present, as it were. Rationing moreover meant there was very little go around for the majority of the Brits, something she knew better than most, and if she could improve their holidays a bit by sharing some good old American produce, she'd be glad to do so.

"Fellas!" she called, recognizing a dozen or so of the boys and jogging up to them, "Hey, fellas. I need your help."

"What's up, LT?" Hoobler asked, already sounding excited - the boy had a tendency to get excited about everyone and everything, bless him.

"We've managed to mooch some presents for the kids in town," Eleanor explained, smiling, "Chocolate and other candy, mostly. Want to help me hand them out?"

"Are you kidding?" Muck asked, mouth hanging open, "We get to play Santa Claus?"

"Father Christmas," she corrected automatically, a long force of habit that she had never quite been able to shake. The St. Nick most Yanks knew and loved nowadays was a largely corporate invention, boosted by the popular Coca Cola advertisements of the early 30s; to her, he'd always be Father Christmas.

"Huh?"

"They call him Father-" she paused, shaking her head with a smile at their confused expressions. _Never mind. _"Yes, Muck, you get to play Santa Claus."

To her surprise, it was tough-as-nails, don't-mess-with-me Bill Guarnere who grinned and ushered the entire group onwards. "Well, what are we waitin' for?" he declared, wrapping an arm around Eleanor's waist and tugging her along, "Let's go!"

* * *

Handing out the gifts to the children of Aldbourne turned out to be one of the most satisfying things she had done since returning to England. Despite the fact that many of them had never known anything but a world at war, they were little rays of sunshine and optimism, brightening up the room with their relentless energy as they pounced on the foreign paratroopers. Seeing their little faces lit up with delight whenever they unwrapped one of the (admittedly crudely packaged) presents had warmed Eleanor's heart and gladdened her soul. The kids had also had a penchant for bringing out the more gentle sides of even the toughest of men: the memory of Bill Guarnere hoisting a little boy onto his shoulders and giving him a ride was one she would cherish forever.

Now, snuggled into her greatcoat, hands shoved in its pockets and nose red from the cold, she couldn't be more content. The Wiltshire countryside stretched out before her like an almost Dickensian winter wonderland and directly around her, the boys that had come to town with them were bantering merrily with her girls. Between the two of those things, it felt like something out of a dream. She sighed softly, breath clouding in the icy afternoon air, and tilted up her face towards the warmth of the sun, her eyes fluttering close. _Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace; good will toward men._

A sudden flare of cold in the back of her neck abruptly shook her out of her reverie and she yelped in surprise, swiping at the slush ineffectively even as she spun around to see where it had come from. There were half-hidden grins and giggles dispersed amongst the group and she initially had some trouble finding the culprit; but then she saw George Luz looking far too innocent, and she knew she had found her assailant. She narrowed her eyes at him, already plotting her revenge. "Oh, you are _so_ dead." she forewarned him, crouching down steadily and scooping up a handful of snow.

One well-aimed throw later, and soon everyone was hurtling snow at each other, laughing wildly as they ducked and pitched. Eleanor was particularly proud of a wicked curveball that hit Guarnere squarely in the face, much to his protest.

"Eh, you cheat!" he hollered, and she grinned at him devilishly.

"Yeah?" she challenged, "You're just a sore loser!"

Unfortunately for her, she had vastly underestimated his support amongst the men and squealed as Toye, Martin, Malarkey and Muck simultaneously advanced on her and doused her in snow. She staggered away breathlessly, falling back on her own unit for support.

"Girls, get them!"

Of course, the nurses did as they were told and opened fire, chaos descending once again. It was in the midst of this fever-pitch battle that Winters, Nixon and Welsh - having followed a little behind the rest of the group - came upon them. Lew, grinning broadly, joined in without hesitation while the other two hung back. Winters watched the men fondly, heartened to see them so carelessly happy, whooping and playing as children would. His gaze lingered on Eleanor, all smiles and flushed cheeks, hair coming free from its customary braid; he smiled himself when a sniggering Nixon caught her around the waist and spun her around gleefully.

"No fair!" she half-shrieked, half-laughed, good-natured complaints only becoming louder when Harry joined in to shove snow into her collar. Tall as she was, his attempt failed and backfired spectacularly when she slid a piece of ice down the scruff of his own neck. The lieutenant spent the next few minutes hopping around comically, trying to get the rapidly melting icicle out of his shirt, and Winters was glad he had decided to stay on the sidelines.

Of course, that very thought was tempting faith, and within seconds there was snow dripping down the side of his face. A tense hush fell instantly over the group as he wiped it off, slowly, face unreadable. Eleanor, torn between amusement and worry, bit her lip and flexed her fingers, their eyes meeting across the impromptu battlefield. For a long moment, there was just them - blue on blue, mirroring smiles - and the enduring silence, wrapped up in one another, and it seemed as if the world had stopped moving; but then everything rushed back into motion and he lunged at her the exact moment she darted away, moving as if they were one person rather than two.

The other soldiers watched them chase each other, a little perplexed, but knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. Tipper cheekily waylaid Eleanor, pushing her into a heap of snow; what he had not counted on was being hit by the snowball originally intended for her. Laughing helplessly, Eleanor flounced about until Grace gave her a hand up she was able to rally her troops. _Now_ the fight was on.

* * *

"I still say we beat you!"

Eleanor snorted in a most unladylike fashion, pressing the rough army towel to her hair in a vain attempt to dry it. "Yeah, right," she goaded Welsh as he came into the room after her, "In your dreams. Your puny little dreams!"

Nixon, poised on the edge of an armchair, shrugged and did up his boots. "Well, Harry, if she's going to be like that..."

The other lieutenant nodded, looking disappointed. "And to think I actually brought her tea."

Their friend's eyes lit up and widened. "Tea?" she exclaimed eagerly as he mentioned the precious commodity, "Gimme!"

Welsh deftly sidestepped her grabbing hands, wagging a finger at her. "Ah, ah!" He grinned at her impishly. "Your ma never teach you any manners?"

_Too damn many, buddy. _She pouted at him innocently, batting her eyelashes for effect. "Please?"

He gave in easily as she knew he would, far too fond of her to be even remotely cruel. "All right then." She opened the small box he passed her anxiously, bringing it up to her nose and taking an experimental sniff. Her eyes closed in bliss at the cherished scent.

"Where'd you even get this?"

Nixon crossed his arms, smiled. "We have our ways."

She should have known better than to ask, really, but she couldn't resist. Depending on their answer, she might be forced to return their gift. "Please tell me you didn't get this off the family you're quartered with."

"Of course not!" Harry declared, offended, "What the hell do you take me for?"

Eleanor smiled sweetly. "A leprechaun?"

The two men laughed and Lew dug up another box for her. "We got you something else, too."

"Aw, you shouldn't have!" she said, meaning it; she hadn't been sure if presents would be exchanged and had consequently nothing to offer them. She felt positively spoilt already.

"Sure we did," Welsh soothed, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, "Open it."

Doing as she was told, her mouth fell open when the contents of the package were revealed. The pretty scarf slid through her fingers smoothly, the feel of it magnificently familiar and delicate. An item like this must have cost them a decent amount of money.

"This is silk." she observed hoarsely, looking between her friends. Lew nodded.

"Merry Christmas, Ellie."

"How-" she suddenly felt like she couldn't speak and pulled the two of them into her arms instead. "Oh, _boys_." She really wasn't all that prone to displays of sentimentality, but the fact that the duo had so obviously gone to great lengths to find her something this dear to her, this beautiful, was a little overwhelming. They really were very sweet sometimes.

Pulling back, she regarded them guiltily. "I didn't get you anything," she sniffed, but neither of them seemed to care too much.

"Eh, that's all right," Harry smiled, patting her shoulder consolingly. She just shook her head.

"It isn't," she argued, "I'll find you something."

"You don't need-"

"No, no, I will," she vowed, smiling a little. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Lew said earnestly, returning her smile, but dove back into the matter of who had won the earlier snowball fight within instants. "So really, Luz is the winner-"

* * *

After being served an actually half-decent meal for dinner ("You'd think this was the goddamn last supper!" Luz had remarked euphorically) the regiment scattered to attend the different Christmas parties being held around Aldbourne. As always, most of Eleanor's unit stuck with second battalion, joining them in their mess for the celebrations. Within the first hour after her arrival, she had already lost rather dramatically at cards to some of the boys from Dog and seemed well on her way to dancing with every single member of E Company. There had been a few memorable moments to be sure: Perconte had been so much shorter than her that his friends had jeered at him to get an apple box to stand on as they were playing darts, Lipton had talked to her in wistful tones about his beloved wife back home, and Gordon's hand had been in constant danger of straying further south than was strictly appropriate while they danced. She was contemplating how to get darling Gene Roe to agree to a waltz when Lew had approached her, glass of Vat 69 in hand. "Hey, Fairfax!" he called, sidling up to her, "You quickstep?"

_Do I ever. _"I don't know, is the Pope Catholic?" she grinned, setting down her own drink. While most of the men were pretty good with popular dances like the jitterbug and lindyhop or even the occasional basic waltz, she doubted many of them had any particular talent for the more upscale styles. She took the opportunity to flex her muscles gladly. Nix was a little rusty, but they galloped and skipped along to Jingle Bells wholeheartedly, spinning until they were both dizzy. When they finally came to a halt, she threw her arms around him to regain her balance, laughing in delight as she let her forehead fall down to rest on his shoulder. He hugged her back with a fond smile, leading her off the dance floor and towards one of the tables so she could take a seat and rest.

Eleanor let herself sink into a chair next to Betty Edwards, who was sipping a beer and watching the dancers. The nurse shot her a knowing look, only to remove it in a trice when her superior shook her head slightly._ Never assume, Bets. _Nixon had disappeared to get them both a drink and Eleanor was about to ask Betty about her evening when Joe Toye whisked her second off for a spin. Eleanor watched them go, pleased to note the two of them had hit it off as much as she had thought they might, and took the momentary lull to observe the room and reflect.

In the far corner, she could see Nancy Campbell talking to Talbert; he was rubbing his lower lip as he often did when anxious, but she seemed calm, in control, assertive. Eleanor couldn't help but feel a little surge of pride. A little further away, Luz was recounting some story that had Hoobler and Sisk in stitches, and Anne and Katie were playing a quiet game of bridge with Tipper and Liebgott. Shifty was bashfully chatting to Sara. Welsh and Nixon were leaning against the bar. Among the many familiar faces on the dance floor - Grant, More, even Randleman - she was amused to notice a less than sober Muck and Malarkey doing some form of swing dance together.

She breathed out slowly, tranquilly, the warmth of the room combined with the earlier mulled wine having made her a little drowsy. If Christmas was indeed about family and friends, this was likely as close to perfect as it got. Her heart felt so full of love and affection that it seemed like it might overflow at any moment. Whatever came next, she would always remember this as a moment that would make it all worth it.

Her view of the area was suddenly obstructed, and she looked up with a frown to see Dick Winters looming over her. He was looking at her intently, face illegible but brows drawn together, and she smiled at him a little bemusedly. They'd barely spoken since that afternoon, and she had wondered at their sudden lack of interaction.

Not in her wildest imagination would she have been able to anticipate what he was about to do, however.

"Do you want to dance?" he asked, his voice so quiet she almost didn't hear him over the steady buzz of the room, and for a moment she was taken aback. She had never known him as anything but shy and reserved when it came to women - hell, the man blushed at the mere mention of a date - yet here he was, asking her to dance. On Christmas eve, no less.

Had he been anyone else, had it been any other time or place, she might have laughed; but his blue eyes were so earnest, his features so handsome in the dim light of the mess, that her heart involuntarily skipped a beat and she found herself agreeing a little breathlessly. She took the hand he extended to her and let him lead her to the dance floor. It was hard to believe she had once upon a time flat out refused to even let him walk her home. Her cheeks reddened involuntarily as she felt a dozen or more eyes directed at her, but she did not hesitate to wrap the fingers of her right hand around his, long digits intertwining. In the background, the song changed to Crosby's _I'll Be Home For Christmas_ as his other hand came up just above her waist - he was nothing if not a gentleman - and they began to move, slowly, to the music.

She thought back to when she had first met him, when she had dismissed what had really been chivalrous concern as patronization and had started what had been a long series of awkward run ins. The change in her opinion of him had been so gradual that for the world of her, she could not remember when she had first become so captivated by him. She knew now that there were whole stories to be found in those light blue eyes ringed with the darker shade of sapphire; that there were entire worlds to be discovered in the slow spread of his smile. It was all these little things that set her heart aflutter and generally made her act like a love-sick teenager; those wonderful details that frequented her thoughts and dreams and made her long for their little moments together.

She bit her lip. She certainly didn't know when she had become this infatuated with him.

Their faces were inches apart, and she fought the urge to lean her temple against his jaw with all her might. Instead, she ducked her head down shyly, her forehead unconsciously coming to rest against his shoulder. Somehow, her head fit perfectly into the crook of his neck, his heartbeat steady under her cheek. He smelt of soap and gun grease and felt so warm and solid and _alive_ - if that afternoon had been a dream, this surely had to be a mirage, a very surreal but undeniably lovely hallucination.

_Christmas Eve will find me where the love light beams..._

"Hey, lieutenants!"

She felt him stiffen even as her breath caught and both of them looked up at the disturbance. On the edge of the dance floor, George Luz was grinning roguishly - that never boded well - and pointing towards a spot directly above them. Their gazes swept upward, and sure enough, there was a bunch of mistletoe hanging over their heads.

_You've got to be kidding me._ Eleanor looked at Dick, bereft of speech, well aware that there were more than a few people whispering and staring. The tall officer was blushing furiously, looking anywhere but her until she squeezed his hand softly, head tilted back so that their eyes could meet. Her lips tugged up into a small smile, and he mirrored it silently as her back curved around his hand. Breathing out slowly, he closed the distance between them and pecked her on the cheek swiftly, fingers tightening around hers when a number of the men hooted and she pressed her burning face back against his shoulder.

"Sorry," he whispered, his breath stirring her hair. She subdued a shiver.

"Don't be," she murmured against his jacket, closing her eyes.

_I'll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams..._

_

* * *

_

**Thanks for reading and please review! I hope you've enjoyed this early Christmas chapter - the season was coming up in the storyline and then York (which is where I go to university) decided to do its yearly fairytale Dickensian Christmas thing **_**and**_** carols kept on popping up on my Itunes... this became inevitable. I do hope it's not too saccharine!**

**A big thank you to all four of the people who left a review to the last chapter - they were lovely, every single one of them, and it means a lot to know you appreciate my writing and like the story.**

**Also, I realize this is a day early for most, but in honor of Remembrance Day: **

_**They went with songs to the battle, they were young.  
Straight of limb, true of eyes, steady and aglow.  
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,  
They fell with their faces to the foe.  
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:  
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.  
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,  
We will remember them.**_

**Let us remember, lest we forget. **


	11. As Time Goes By

**Disclaimer: this story is based solely on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.**

**

* * *

**

_The Special Operations Executive had only been in operation for a few months when Eleanor had been recruited by them. The 'Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare', as some referred it to, had debuted an entirely new way of waging war: the encouragement and structured facilitation of espionage and sabotage behind enemy lines had been a novel method of doing business to say the least. Because she had been one of the first to have been enlisted, Eleanor had also been one of the first to make it to France. Three years and three missions later, she had become one of the most experienced and valued operatives on the Western front.  
_

_By then, she had known more than the average officer; certainly a lot more than any average grunt. She had been forced into the extraordinary position of a woman esteemed for her combat experience and insight into matters of conflict. Still, she had nevertheless faced unfair treatment and intolerance for a long while. Even in modern times like these, it had been hard to accept for many that a woman could actually lead an attack and serve as an efficient member of the armed forces. She'd had to work twice as hard, perform twice as well before anyone had taken her seriously... but in the end, it had been worth it._

_One of the men who had not held such prejudices against her was an agreeable colleague of hers whose name was so lengthy and unspeakable that she had referred to him simply as "Tommy". They had worked together in Vichy and, appalled by the lack of logistical and material support the resistance movements were receiving - working for a newly formed organization had meant some of the administration and planning had been a little sketchy at times - they had pleaded for a brief audience with Prime Minister Churchill. Five minutes, they had begged. Just give us five minutes._

_The British leader had been hesitant at first, not least because he was had been addressed by a girl who sounded like she belonged in High Street Kensington rather than occupied France, but had eventually been fascinated enough by their stories to agree to help them. Supplies had been doubled along with the number of agents, and things had started to look up._

_Not a few of those new agents had been women, but it had been to late for Eleanor. Notorious and war-weary already, it had been high time for her to take a break and find herself again._

_

* * *

_

The new year had come and gone and the months passed, steadily, as the companies of the 506th prepared themselves for combat. They were blissful and relatively uncomplicated times; spring returned to England early that year, the heavy snow of the winter season giving way to the warmth of the sun and the song of birds, and though war loomed on the horizon, it was offset by enduring camaraderie and growing friendships. Eleanor, basking in the affection and companionship of her newfound friends, thrived and flourished like a flower after a long drought.

It was towards the end of February that the companies were deemed fit to move on to larger scale exercises. In the end, they were only tiny pieces of a vast puzzle; now that the separate elements were ready, it was time to fit them together. Days lengthened. Training intensified. As a seasoned operative, Eleanor was often in touch with division headquarters, offering advice and insight as plans for the invasion began to take shape.

One of the regiment's proudest moments was to happen about a month after they had started working in larger sections. General Taylor, commanding officer of the 101st Airborne, was set to inspect the troops along with General Eisenhower, Prime Minister Churchill and a whole arrangement of other top brass. It would be an opportunity for the men - and women - to show off all they had learned, as well as offering a nice bit of recognition and acknowledgment of the fact that they would be some of the first to jump into enemy territory come D-Day. Excitement levels were high and preparatory measures intense in the days running up to the big moment; making a good impression would be vital.

The day beforehand, Eleanor called her girls together after lunch and watched them as they lined up before her, sharp and bright-eyed, awaiting her command. All of them were second lieutenants now; the status of rank would give them more authority over the often dismissive male medics on the front and also gave them a certain amount of protection in the men-dominated world of the military. Despite their new commissions, however, Eleanor was still very much in charge and they continued to look to her for direction. No matter how close they had gotten - regardless of how friendly and fair she was to them - she still ran her unit with strict discipline and decorum, and they respected her for it. It would be the only way they would make it through once they got to the continent.

Satisfied with what she saw, the CO nodded her approval.

"All right, fall in," she called, voice clear and concise, waiting until they had moved into formation, "Route step, march!" Turning around crisply, she walked out of the barracks, her team following in position but not in step. It was a simple way of keeping the group in order without forcing them to march; it certainly prevented distractions and established them as a genuine military unit rather than a mere gaggle of girls. Once they had gotten to the infirmary, she had them form up in front of her again, eyes forward and expressions transfixed.

"Stand at ease," Eleanor inclined her head, folding her arms behind her back as the girls relaxed their stance. "Ladies, as you have no doubt heard, we will be entertaining some very important guests tomorrow." She smiled, noticing the whisper of a thrill going through the group. "Both General Eisenhower and Prime Minister will be inspecting the regiment along with General Taylor. Second and third battalion will part-take in a combined jump and the guests are expected to tour the base after their review." She looked around her platoon solemnly. "Needless to say, I want this place to be immaculate. I want to be able to see my reflection in the bedpans and eat of the floor if necessary. Am I clear?"

There were nods and a hushed chorus of "Yes, ma'am." The gravity of the situation seemed to have dawned on them. More than anyone, the ANC unit would have to prove it belonged and was well on its way to being battle ready. Such was the curse of being an unprecedented, all-female element.

"Good. You will have the rest of today to make it happen. Fall out."

They turned on their heels, the primary team - those who had secretly been assigned to work for the OSS alongside their nursing duties - taking charge of the different stations and seeing to it that tasks were assigned equally. Pensive, Eleanor decided to take a gamble and test one of the girls. "Gale?" she asked, pulling her aside, "Have Nancy take over your area. I want you to pick up the curtains from Mrs. Lamb."

Gale was visibly confused, and Eleanor clapped her on the back with a smile. "Don't worry, you haven't done anything wrong. Just make sure they're properly starched." The nurse, though still a little bemused, did not hesitate to obey the order and went to grab her coat.

Once Gale had gone, Eleanor grabbed a cloth and joined the others in scrubbing the ward down. "On the double, girls!" she encouraged, "Someone's gotta impress Ike, might as well be us." She took over a bucket from Sara with a smile, dipping the rag in it and wringing it out. "Remember, ladies. The ANC expects the impossible..."

"And gets it!" the whole group finished the old saying, chuckling, "Yes ma'am!"

It was nearing teatime when Eleanor considered the area ready for a first round of checkups. She went around the hall unhurriedly, scrutinizing its every inch, running fingers over random surfaces to check if they were appropriately spotless. Perceiving a blemish, she halted.

"Who cleaned this bed?"

One of the girls raised a timid hand. "I did, ma'am."

Eleanor held up her finger to her, showing the remnants of dust on it. _This won't do. _"Dirt underneath the springs, Jones. Do it again."

Chastised, the nurse flushed and instantly scurried to redo the bed as Eleanor continued on her way. There were a handful of other shortcomings she discovered, but their progress was steady and they finished their big spring clean before dinner as planned. Assembling them one last time for that day, she praised their hard work and gave them some final instructions.

"I want you in your Class A's by 0800 tomorrow. Bring your bags in case of any accidents."

"Are you expecting any, ma'am?"

_Please God, no. _"Let's hope not, but bring them all the same." She smiled, pleased with her team and eager to demonstrate their development. _They have done and are doing so well. Who would have guessed back in September? _

"Dismissed."

* * *

Eleanor, dressed to the nines and looking every inch the officer, jumped out of the passenger seat of a deuce and a half bright and early the next morning. Sidestepping a delicate looking snowdrop, she smiled a little to herself when she heard her unit laughing and talking as they climbed off the back of the same truck, clapping her hands when they appeared into view. "Come on then, all those broken bones won't fix themselves."

Her tone was flippant enough, but the truth of it was that she had been fighting down nerves since getting up a couple of hours ago. She trusted her team and knew they were ready- that wasn't the problem. It was the jump that worried her. This was by far the largest the regiment had done since coming to England and their last attempt had not gone too well. She vividly remembered the screaming trooper who had lost his buddy to a faulty chute and the panic that had overtaken her at the sight of them. Though she had unwound a lot since that faithful day and had been steadily getting better while in Aldbourne, she hadn't been tested like this since that last jump. The prospect of something going wrong - of losing her hard-earned composure again - frightened her significantly.

The nurses formed a neat group behind her, following her onto the airfield. The C47s were already lined up, doors open and waiting to receive the paratroopers currently preparing to board. They were to remain out of sight until after their jump; a reviewing stand had been erected on the other side of the hangars for them to assemble on once they had landed. The whole place was buzzing with activity and somewhere, someone had decided to sing- something that many if not most seemed to pick up on soon after.

"Gory, gory, what a helluva way to die..."

Eleanor frowned, one corner of her mouth tugging up in amusement. This certainly was an interesting interpretation of the _Battle Hymn Of The Republic_ and it was probably a good thing the leadership wasn't within earshot yet, but she had to admit it was memorable. She recognized a few of the voices; Joe Toye, always fond of a good song, was belting along wholeheartedly, and Luz in turn appeared to be imitating him.

_Well, they say imitation is the greatest form of flattery. _Shaking her head, Eleanor walked over to Harry Welsh and greeted him with a friendly slap on the back.

"Cheerful tune they've got there, Welshy."

He grinned his gappy grin. "Catchy, ain't it?"

She chuckled, absentmindedly reaching out to help him with the straps of his jump gear. If she noticed his look of surprise, she chose to ignore it, her hands lingering on his shoulders. "Try not to get yourself killed, hey?"

His grin lingered, but there was a softer edge to it now than there had been before. "Aw, you worried about me, Fairfax?"

_You're my friend- my best friend, even. Of course I'm worried, you idiot. _"No," she smiled, digging her elbow into his ribs, "But I don't particularly feel like dragging your bloodied corpse off the field in front of Ike either."

He nodded, smile fading; things going wrong would have considerable consequences for the entire division, and he also remembered how badly shaken she had been the previous time around. There was no teasing in his manner now. "Duly noted." His usual lightheartedness returned soon enough, however, and he winked at her cheerfully. "I'll see you on the stand. Second platoon, let's go!"

Crossing her arms, she watched him gather up his men and divide them into sticks, assigning them pushmen and aircrafts to get to. Easy Company's beloved faces looked back at her as they boarded the planes, some of the waving at her unit amiably, the more daring amongst them whistling or calling out to the nurses. Eleanor waved back affectionately, automatically scrutinizing the boys for signs of injury and sickness. Kiehn's limp was almost gone now that his sprained ankle had healed, but there was some residual stiffness that worried her a little. Penkala had a persistent if mild cold, though it was nothing some rest and a good supply of tissues couldn't cure. The rest of them seemed fine, from what she could tell, and she breathed out shakily as the engines began to roar.

_God, I beg of you, let them be all right._ The sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach was almost making her feel physically ill, but she managed a weak smile when Welsh paused to look at her in reassurance from the doorway of his plane. _Breathe. Just breathe._

Months ago, she had been an empty shell of a person, so many pieces of her scattered across the European continent that she barely recognized herself anymore. It had been hard then to figure out who she was, who she was meant to be, what even the most fundamental of concepts meant to her. The 506th had changed all that. Slowly but surely, they had taken the shattered shards and put them back together, cementing them with their unceasing love and compassion. They had shown her who she could be, who she should be; they had helped her find herself again. She knew who she was now: she was a nurse, a leader, a friend. Most of all and most importantly, she was a woman who loved and allowed herself to be loved in return.

As for those three concepts she had so struggled with, her feelings were still hard to articulate, but at least there were feelings where before there had only been a hazy numbness. _Safe_ was Harry Welsh's arm slung around her, Betty Edwards' steadying hand on her shoulder. _Family_ was the boys of Easy and the girls of her unit. _Home_ might very well become the sanctuary of Dick Winters' arms, if she'd allow it. All in all, she was alone no longer.

"Strange, isn't it?" she mused softly, eyes following the C47s as they set off, contrasted against the morning sky.

"What is, ma'am?" Betty asked at her side, puzzled.

"Strange how such a dangerous thing can look so beautiful."

Eleanor Fairfax had long ago found something to die for. It seemed that, at last, she had found something worth living for too.

* * *

To Eleanor's eternal gratitude, the jump went spectacularly well and the VIPs were thoroughly impressed by how quickly the boys had managed to assemble and gear up once they hit the ground. Given their impressive performance it was almost hard to believe parachute infantry was still such a new concept and that the 506th were amongst the first to do it; the well-oiled machine that was second and third battalion certainly made it seem as if they had been jumping out of planes forever and a day.

Standing with the rest of her unit, Eleanor scanned her surroundings surreptitiously, the rest of her remaining perfectly poised and rigid. Down the line, she recognized the rotund figure of Winston Churchill as he passed by the troops with Dwight Eisenhower, pausing here and there to make smalltalk with one of the soldiers. Their little chats were a well rehearsed ritual; Allied command had made it a habit recently to visit their soldiers, and Eleanor doubted any of them could recount just how many GIs they had talked to by now. It was only logical their questions would be standardized.

Silently, she wondered if Churchill would remember her. She had met the famed Bulldog of Britain twice already and once at least he had seemed genuinely interested in what she and her colleague had had to say. The PM would be one of the few who might be aware of her true purpose amongst the Yanks, but then he met so many people on a daily basis. What chances were there of him recalling a young girl like herself, even one who had been serving her country from early on in the war?

She smiled as she saw him chat to Malarkey but forced her expression back into impassivity as the generals approached. Eisenhower seemed intrigued and addressed Maria a few places down but Churchill, on the contrary, almost passed them by entirely. Women in the army were much more customary amongst the Brits than they were amongst the Americans; the island nation had long ago accepted that they needed all hands on deck if they were to stand any chance of winning. Unexpectedly, the prime minister seemed to do a double take, small eyes narrowing and zeroing in on Eleanor.

"You!" he called, and she felt her own eyes widen inadvertently,"What's your name, lass?"

"Lieutenant Eleanor Fairfax, sir," she responded, careful not to revert back to the British pronunciation on instinct.

"You're a long way from France, lieutenant," the PM remarked, and damned if that wasn't a spark of humor flashing in his expression, "Think you shall be able to handle it?"

_Maybe he does remember..._

"Yes, sir."

"And are you properly equipped and prepared?"

His inflection left no doubt in her mind; he was teasing her, apparently well aware of exactly who she was and what their last conversation had been. _Dear God, he actually does recognize me. _

"I believe so, sir," she answered, "We are well taken care of these days."

She received a rare smile in return. "Jolly good. Carry on."

Saluting him smartly, she watched him wander off, still a little baffled. Here she was, one of millions, a minuscule part of a vast whole, but seemingly important enough to be remembered by the British commander in chief. _Dearie me. Guess I did something right after all..._

_

* * *

_

The rest of the day passed without much further ado. The infirmary had been inspected, her unit reviewed, and both had been praised for their orderliness; they had attained the success they had hoped for, and from what she had heard reported back thus far, so had the rest of the regiment. It seemed like the review as a whole had been a huge success in general, and the gentlemen had adjourned to dinner with Colonel Sink according to schedule.

Eleanor had dismissed her team to allow them time to change before dinner - it seemed only fair given how well they had performed - and was cleaning up the materials used for a demonstration earlier that day. Left to herself, she had turned on the old wireless in her office, skipping along cheerfully to the BBC's broadcasts, her spirits high. For all that she was a solemn and able officer, she was also a young girl who'd had a particularly good day and felt like celebrating a little.

"They say there's a troop ship just leaving Bombay, bound for Old Blighty shore..."

She laughed as she recognized the old ditty, scooping up bandages and depositing them in a drawer, twirling around towards one of the beds to straighten out its sheets. The tune reminded her of the Tommies she had treated back at the Royal Free Hospital long ago, when she had still been a youthful aristocrat training to be a doctor. It didn't even register that the memory just made her smile rather than flood her with nostalgia and swallow her in a deluge of further recollections; it was perhaps the first time she could think back to those times in a purely happy manner.

"Bless 'em all, bless 'em all, the long and the short and the tall..."

Out of the blue, someone grabbed hold of her and swept her along into an impromptu dance; she squealed in surprise, recognizing Harry Welsh just in time to keep herself from intuitively wrestling him to the ground. He grinned at her happily. "What the hell is this song?"

Chuckling, she ducked under his arm as he spun her. "Oh, some old English tune. You should hear the less CO-friendly version."

"I can only imagine."

The two of them looked up to see Nixon ambling in, smirking at them. Like Welsh, he looked decidedly pleased with himself and the world as a whole. _Seems like the rumors are true and we did indeed do well. _

The intelligence officer clapped mockingly as his friends finished with a flourish, perching on the bed Eleanor had just redone. "So!" he began, promptly jumping off the cot as she shot him a withering look, "Someone had a nice little chit-chat with Mr. Churchill today." He was already unscrewing the cap of his hip flask and took a swig of the liquor before passing it to Harry.

Eleanor smiled. "Jealous, Lew?"

His response was only the slightest bit begrudging. "Maybe just a little." His focus shifted to Harry briefly as he took back his flask, but then he glanced back at Eleanor, eyes glinting mischievously. "Hey, Elle, you hear how his platoon almost made a fool of themselves in front of Ike?"

As a matter of fact, she hadn't, and she had to admit she was a little curious as to what had actually happened- but Nixon's blatant ridicule had her raising an eyebrow at Welsh.

"You want to shoot him or should I?"

Harry just shrugged. "Tempting," he admitted, "But note how he said 'almost'."

She took the bait. "What happened?"

Lewis shifted his weight around, looking for all the world as if he were readying himself to recount some kind of epic story rather than a mere insider's anecdote. "Guarnere's squad kept on missing their target, but then Taylor comes up with the VIPs, and _boom_," he put extra emphasis on the word, "Bullseye!"

Eleanor smiled. She knew Muck, Malarkey and Penkala made a damn good mortar team, but even so, their direct hit right in front of the division CO was a stroke of luck. "Good for them."

That wasn't all there was to it, however. "Oh, it gets better," Harry piped up, "Taylor asks Guarnere if they're always this accurate, and he straight up tells him, 'Yes sir, my boys never miss.'"

This time, Eleanor laughed, both because of Harry's horrendous attempt at emulating Bill's south Philly accent and because it was so wonderfully, typically in character of the sergeant to bluff his way through like that. "Well, bless his good ol' Italian poker face," she drawled fondly, making a mental note to tease her friend about it later, "No blunders in the entire 506th, then?"

"None," Lew declared, looking mightily satisfied, "Sink runs a hell of a show."

"He does at that."

"Hey, you coming to dinner with us?" Harry asked, face brightening as if it were the most extraordinary idea in the world. _Honestly, it isn't as if I haven't been having dinner at least two or three times a week with you lot anyway._

"Depends," she answered archly, motioning around her at their nonplussed looks, "You fellas just gonna stand around or give me a hand?"

Far be it from them to deny her. Between the three of them, the ward was back to its pristine condition within minutes and they were able to head to the mess as the boys had proposed. Their hard work had paid off; it was time to celebrate.

* * *

The mood that night was triumphant and second battalion celebrated in style with watery British beer and plenty of banter. Eleanor spent most of the evening with the Easy Company boys and her own girls, playing cards and talking idly about their days; it was a common occurrence that had quickly become a tradition, and today was no exception.

Halfway through the evening, Dick Winters joined them, blushing as always when she smiled at him from across the room. They had been growing steadily closer since before Christmas, and both their units had taken notice, their whispers less than discreet and George Luz's insistence on whistling _A Fine Romance_ whenever he saw the two officers together downright audacious. Eleanor was torn between hesitation and falling hopelessly in love.

In her mind, she knew that starting a relationship with a fellow officer was a bad idea. It wasn't strictly forbidden, but it was certainly frowned upon, and they both had too much responsibility resting upon their shoulders to allow for distraction. Neither of them could permit themselves to be crippled by concern for the other's well being whilst in the field; they had teams to lead and jobs to do. She also just wondered what on earth she would be able to offer him: he was so good and kind and wholesome, where as she was damaged and jaded and weary of the world. Then of course there was the minor fact that she had neither an exactly average past or was particularly forthcoming about her identity. All things combined, it seemed highly doubtful to her that anything between them would ever work.

Yet in her heart, she longed for the security and warmth of his arms she remembered from that dance on Christmas eve, the future she could still see reflected in the blue eyes she had grown so attached to. She found herself looking forward to whatever time they shared together; the walks back to base, the long conversations about the most random of topics, the secret smiles and barest of touches. She'd had crushes before, had even fancied herself in love once or twice, but there was something that felt so indescribably right and good about being near him that she was hard-pressed not to give in.

_Christ, when did I get to be such a sap?_ Unable to make a decision, she kept her distance, never quite giving in just like he never quite pushed his luck. It was frustrating. It was difficult. Right then and there, it was probably also the only option.

By the end of the evening, Eleanor was getting just the slightest bit tipsy; though usually able to hold her liquor well enough, it had been a tiring day and the boys had insisted on keeping the ale flowing. Luckily for her she was well aware that it was getting to the point of being too much, and she decided to call it a night before any permanent damage could be done. Of course, Winters insisted on walking her home, and so the two of them wandered back along the darkened lanes of Aldbourne together.

"I couldn't help but notice you were reading a novel a few days ago," Eleanor remarked casually, running her hand along the branches of one of the hedges. It was true; she had found him in the mess when the rest of the men had gone to the pub, attention wholly absorbed by a book. He had looked up and asked her about her day when she had come in, effectively preventing her from inquiring about what he was reading, and she had wondered about it ever since.

"I was," he acknowledged, "_The Good Soldier. _My hosts lent it to me."

She nodded, recognizing the title. "This is the saddest story I have ever heard," she recited, remembering the depressing tale of loveless marriages and the nature of truth, "Interesting choice."

"It wasn't actually what I was expecting," he admitted, smiling, "But it's captivating."

"Well, the prose is exquisite, certainly," she parried, "But it's so dreadfully slow and complex, and the main character is horrendously unsympathetic."

He chuckled. "You prefer your characters heroic and agreeable?"

Looking at him, hair fiery red even in the darkness of the night, she realized that yes - perhaps she did. Her own life provided enough twists and turns and callousness; novels, like films, should serve as a diversion, a relief, a glimpse of idealism and romance in a less than perfect world. It was funny, really, how she had loved intrigue and a certain level of darkness in her literature before the start of the war. Nowadays, she much favored the more rosy depictions of life.

_Maybe I like my books the way I like my men these days..._

The thought startled her somewhat, and she struggled to vocalize an answer for a moment. "Yes," she admitted at last, "I suppose I-"

_Splat. _Her sentence was rudely interrupted by a fat drop of water falling down on to her cheek. She frowned, looking up at the sky and noting the lack of moonlight. _Splat. Splat._ "Oh, no." she groaned, realizing the English weather had betrayed them once again and that the sporadic dripping would soon grow into a steady downpour.

At her side, Dick seemed to have much the same thought, following her gaze up towards the heavens. Neither of them had foul weather gear or even an umbrella on them; by the time they would get back to the barracks, they'd be soaked. Without hesitation or warning, he grabbed her hand. "Come on."

He tugged her along before she had a chance to protest, laughing as she spluttered briefly before joining him in a run when the rain became heavier. The two of them rushed back to base, trying and failing to sidestep the rapidly growing puddles, getting drenched despite their efforts to avoid doing just that. Their shoes squelched in the sludge and they had to balance each other out whenever the other threatened to stumble. The whole situation was so absurd that by the time they had reached the sanctuary of the nurses' billet, both of them were laughing.

"Oh, God, look at your boots!" she gasped, trying to catch her breath around unstoppable giggles. He leaned against the side of the building in much the same state, grin wider than she had ever seen it, eyes bright in the faint light of the lanterns. "I think you're worse off," he observed, "There's mud on your _face,_ for Pete's sake."

Shaking her head in disbelief, she reached up a hand to wipe it away, breath catching when he tenderly swatted it away. "Here-" he said softly, voice trailing off as his slender fingers stroked across her cheek, brushing away the dirt. They were very close now, as close as they had been on Christmas eve, and her heart beat wildly in her chest as the smell of him, the sight of him, the _feel_ of him overwhelmed her senses.

_I shouldn't do this. I shouldn't do this._

"Ellie..." he whispered huskily, and she tipped her chin up, nuzzling her cheek into his warm palm.

_Maybe I'm more sauced than I thought._

But he pulled back abruptly when they could hear the distant but nearing sound of footsteps and conversation, both of them reddening when they realized how close they had come to kissing.

"I should-"

"Go." she finished, relieved and disappointed at once. He nodded, regret shining in his eyes as they lingered on her even when he turned away. Once he had rounded the corner and was out of sight, she slumped against the barracks, shivering in the cold night air. _Oh, but I am fortune's fool. _Sighing deeply, she pushed past the door and into the warmth of the building, shrugging out of her damp coat. _Now what do we do?_

In the end, the answer was more or less provided for her. Less than a fortnight later, Field Marshal Montgomery would request her presence in London, and everything would change again.

* * *

**Thank you, as always, for reading - and do please leave a review! Your thoughts and words of encouragement are what keep me going.**

**For those of you in the UK, I hope you have had a pleasant Remembrance Sunday. I know this chapter is a little shorter than the previous ones, but it primarily serves to wrap up a number of storylines before we move on; major events will start occurring soon, messing with all of our characters' lives. Change is a-coming. Do stay tuned!**


	12. You'll Never Know

**Disclaimer: this story is based solely on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.**

**

* * *

**_When Eleanor had returned to England in the summer of 1943 - having fled Normandy haphazardly once it had become clear her presence there had become a liability rather than an asset - it hadn't taken long for her superiors to surmise that she wasn't doing well. She had been on edge constantly, prone to flashbacks and shaking hands, a classic case of combat fatigue and having seen too much. For her own good but against her own wishes, they had ordered her to stay put in England, at least for the time being. They'd had to cite the possibility of her return endangering others for her to actually agree to it._

_Things had been uncertain for a few days. Rest had been made mandatory and she had wandered around the familiar streets of London like a ghost, revisiting some of her favorite old places but steering clear of old friends. The hotel room she had shared with an excitable new recruit had been clean and comfortable but decidedly plain; her days at the Ritz had long since gone. _

_It was in this room that she had found a magazine left behind by her roommate and had begun to leaf through it aimlessly, looking to kill time. An article had drawn her attention immediately: 'Society Wedding Of The Year', its title had proclaimed, and she had wondered vaguely if she would know the happy couple it referred to. Her eyes had scanned down, noting the lack of picture, until she had read the names and the glossy had fallen out of her suddenly numb fingers._

_Peter Feversham and Elizabeth Tallis. Their marriage announcement had been a blow to the stomach. The faint hope of returning home one day, of returning to Peter and their old circle of friends, had always lingered in the depths of her heart. It had diminished as the years had dragged on and she had experienced first hand the horrors of the war, but it had still been there. Now, with a single fancy wedding announcement, it had felt as if that hope had been torn straight from her chest and left a gaping, excruciating wound, never to be mended again._

_She had known she had been away and out of touch for a long while, but she had believed without fail that Peter had and would continue to favor her wit and temperament over Elizabeth's plain looks and soft-spoken compliancy. It wasn't that Eleanor had disliked Lizzie; she was a dear girl, and would no doubt make an excellent wife for someone - but not Peter. Never Peter. Apparently Feversham had disagreed with this and warmed up to the notion of Lizzie's constancy and her considerably larger inheritance._

_For reasons unknown even to herself, Eleanor had gone to church to see them get married. As the ceremony had proceeded, grief and yearning had given way to an overwhelming numbness. Her past had been lost to her completely. There would be no going back now. She had stolen away when Peter had spotted her upon exiting the chapel and his face had registered stunned recognition; the last she had heard from him were the repeated calls of her name._

_The next day, she had been contacted by the Americans and had signed up to serve without a second thought._

_

* * *

_

London, April 7, 1944. The city that had once been Eleanor's home was much different from what she remembered from years before. Large parts of it were still in ruins from the devastating Blitz; even majestic buildings like the Houses of Parliament and St. Paul's Cathedral had not gone unscathed, and clearing the rubble and rebuilding was a slow process. Life continued on around unexploded bomb signs and in the constant presence of gas masks and air raid wardens. Beyond the obvious damage to the buildings, the population had also changed. Some of the children who had previously been evacuated had returned home now that the worst of the attacks seemed to have passed, but more apparent were the large hordes of American troops on leave and enjoying the sights. The center of town was positively swarming with them.

Eleanor paid them little heed as she wandered, aimlessly, through once familiar streets. She had been invited by Field Marshal Montgomery to join him and the rest of Allied command at St. Paul's School in London - his own alma mater - as he presented his strategy for the invasion of Europe. The summons had been a surprise; she had expected correspondence, at most a meeting or two with General Taylor. It seemed, however, that someone up in leadership liked her enough to include her, and of course she had heeded the call and traveled to the city. In the end, it had been a day full of wearisome discussions and trying to point out the flaws in the plans without insulting any of the by far superior officers. She had thanked her lucky stars more than once that her father had been a diplomat and that she seemed to have inherited at least some of his sense of tact.

Now that the meeting was over, she was left to process all that she had heard and seen. It seemed strange that after the many months of preparation and planning, matters were finally coming to fruition. The world had not seen a similar Allied operation since the last war, and no one had truly tried to challenge the Germans after the disaster at Dunkirk. Whatever the outcome, this was an unprecedented event.

_Normandy. Ninety days. This is really happening, isn't it?_

She had been ordered to transfer her unit into the temporary care of the 326th medical before reporting back to OSS headquarters in London in a week; she was to lead a final joint reconnaissance mission around Normandy, mapping drop zones, finding safe houses and liaising with the local resistance. The impending action brought with it a new wave of uncertainty. She had always known that from D-Day onward, the 506th would be on the business end of the Allied advance, but the crude estimations of casualty rates that had been thrown about had brought home just how likely it was that many of the men she had grown to care for - had grown to love - would die. The thought of losing her boys and putting her girls at risk was a terrifying one.

Then there was the anticipation of her own response to combat; she honestly had no idea how she wold react to being back in France, and that too scared her more than a little. What if she couldn't cope? The regiment, the division, hell, half of the expeditionary force would depend on her doing her job. And what if she finally managed to get herself killed? Who then would be left to do her work? What would become of her team?

_May you live in interesting times, indeed. Now I understand why the Chinese use it as a curse._

An automobile honked nearby and she blinked, a little confounded, realizing she had somehow made her way to Kensington's high street. It was just as well - there were a couple of hours left until she had to get the train back to Swindon, and she could do with a drink to soothe her frayed nerves. Locating one of her favorite establishments around the area, she squared her shoulders and walked towards it decisively, determined not to dwell on her cares for now. She was about to open the door when a voice called her name.

"Elle! Hey, Ellie!"

She turned around, eyes wide, to see Lewis Nixon jogging up to her. _Of all the joints in all the towns in all the world, he has to walk up to mine. _

"Lew!" she exclaimed, alarmed to see him there, "What are you doing here?"

Digging through one of his pockets, he produced a slip of paper and showed it to her. "24 hour pass," he grinned, "What about you?"

"Same," she lied easily, feeling the tension drain out of her. Of course he was in London on leave, like most everyone else. He was just a battalion S-2. There was no reason why he would or should know about her true intents and purposes in town. She motioned towards the door. "I was going to get a drink. Care to join me?"

Considering who she was talking to, it didn't take her long to convince him at all. The two of them entered the bar and headed straight to the counter, leaning against it comfortably as they waited to be served. They were halfway through discussing their days when a big yokel of an infantry captain sidled up between them and leered unattractively at Eleanor.

"Hey, baby."

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. _Oh, buddy, don't even try._ "Hi."

"How's it going, doll?"

"Pretty good." Behind the stranger, she could see Lew starting grow annoyed at the man's rude interruption and gave her friend a little smile of reassurance. The last thing they needed was for this to escalate into a fight.

"Good! So let me buy you a drink, huh?" the newcomer said.

_God, but he's oblivious. Must I spell it out? _"That's awful kind of you, but no thanks."

Only now Captain Oblivious seemed to notice Nix on his other side, and he glanced at him briefly before turning back to Eleanor. "You with this guy?"

Lew reached out his hand, attempting civility despite getting increasingly ticked off. "Hi. Lewis Nixon."

Oblivious didn't spare him a second glance. "Yeah, whatever." He dared stroke his hand on Eleanor's arm and she raised an eyebrow at the somewhat inappropriate touch and the strong smell of alcohol coming off the man. _My, aren't you forward. _

"Come on, baby, you can do so much better than a lieutenant."

"Hey-" Now Lewis' hand was on the captain's arm in protest, but it was shrugged off dismissively.

"I mean, this guy? What's a gorgeous gal like you doing with a guy like him?"

Lew bristled, and Eleanor decided she didn't like where this was going at all. Things were spiraling out of control far too rapidly; she frowned at Nix briefly in an attempt to get him to back off before addressing the captain. "Don't be rude, _sir,_" she said, calmly, putting emphasis on the title, "I'm flattered, really, I'm just not interested. Now why don't you go back there and leave us alone?"

Seduction turned to insult in a heartbeat. "What, you too good for me now?" the stranger asked, scowling down at her, "Goddamn nurse. You'd be lucky to get-"

She saw Nixon react, saw the anger flare in his eyes, and knew then that all hell was about to break lose. "No, Lew!" she called out in a last ditch attempt to stop him, but it was too late. Trying to fight a man who is twice your size and build like an outhouse - even when said outhouse is drunk as a skunk - is never a good idea, as Lewis Nixon was about to prove. He went down in a flurry of khaki when his opponent managed to punch him solidly in the face, and Eleanor saw red, both literally and figuratively: a spurt of blood gushed down his face before Lew managed to cover it up, and the operative's ire rose when the drunk officer moved to beat him further.

_Oh, you've done it now._

Instincts took over. Long-honed skills came to the fore. Tapping the man on the shoulder, she used the element of surprise to thrust the heel of her hand up against his nose, silently pleased when she heard the sickening crunch of bone, and followed it with a rapid knee to his groin. The captain went down like a ton of bricks and she rushed over to her friend instantly.

"You all right?" she asked him urgently, cradling his head to examine his injury. He too was bleeding from the nose, but a quick once-over revealed that it thankfully wasn't broken and the lieutenant nodded dazedly as she helped him sit up. "Here..." she grabbed a handkerchief and pressed it to his face, jaw clenching when his stunned brown eyes looked up at her.

A little ways away, some other soldiers were helping the captain up, and the bar's owner was looking on in disconcertment. Eleanor winced. _Time to get out of here._

That thought was only redoubled when her would-be suitor turned and raged at her. "Bitch!" he hollered, voice distorted because of the blood dripping down his nose, "I'm court-martialing you for this. I'm gonna report you!"

"Yeah?" she replied, sounding far more unruffled than she felt, "And tell them what? That you got the hell beat out of you by a _nurse_?" There were a few quiet sniggers around the bar and the drunk simmered down instantly. Eleanor shook her head in disgust. "That's what I thought. Come on, Lew, we're leaving."

She put his arm around her shoulders and hoisted him up, leaving the joint behind before anything else happened. Enough damage had been done as it was.

* * *

Eleanor stalked down the streets of the Kensington district rapidly, the same thought running through her mind over and over. _You struck a superior officer. Oh God, this is bad. This is so, so bad._ Her only consolation was that she might have intimidated the bastard into silence, but she couldn't stand the way Nix was staring at her. He had to know something was off; she was meant to be a nurse, for Christ's sake. Nurses weren't supposed to be able to do the kind of thing she just did.

Behind her, Lew was struggling to keep up; though he was walking under his own power again, his nose was still bleeding profusely. "Ellie, wait!" he called, speeding up to walk besides her. She made no effort to slow down, still not entirely sure who she was more pissed off at, him or the idiotic tippler who had tried to make a move on her. Both had acted foolishly and the three of them could be in serious trouble if things turned out for the worse.

"Care to tell me what the hell that was about?"

Running a hand through her hair, she turned into a well-known street on autopilot, eyes focused on one of the houses further down. Lew would need some ice for that nose, and the only place that she could risk going to get it - the only place that had sprung to mind anyway - was ahead of them.

"My saving your butt, is what," she responded tersely, rummaging through her purse to find the old key she still kept on her. He barked out a laugh, disbelieving.

"Wasn't I supposed to be saving yours?"

"Your concern, while gallant and appreciated, was obviously unnecessary." she bit out, finally finding what she was looking for. Not far now...

"That hick was insulting you!" Nixon exclaimed, affronted, wincing when his outburst accidentally shifted the wadded handkerchief on his nose. Noticing his discomfort, she halted and helped him adjust it.

"And I was _fine_ on my own."

"Yeah, how _does_ a girl who plays Debussy like a pro end up taking out a guy three times her size?"

She shrugged, sighed in aggravation. "I've been around soldiers for a while. Obviously I picked up a trick or two." It was a flimsy excuse and she knew it, but it was the best she could come up with.

"Apparently," he said, well aware that it was nonsense. He frowned as she marched off again. "Where the hell are we going?"

"Somewhere over the rainbow."

"Eleanor-"

"Oh, the full name, I must be in trouble now," she countered sarcastically, climbing up the front steps of a stunning old building. Nixon noticed a glint of metal as she moved to open the door and he was stuck between staring at her and at the magnificent house looming over them.

"Ellie. What is this place?"

_Oh, you know, just the home of an old friend who I may have been in love with. Don't even ask why I still have the key.  
_

She swiveled around, scowling at him angrily. "Jesus, what is this, twenty questions? I've been around London since 1940, remember?"

"I thought it was '41."

_Shit. Get it together, you idiot. Now is not the time to lose it. _Eleanor blanched but dismissed it quickly. "Whatever." She pointed at him accusingly, turning the tables. "You need ice on that nose. We're getting some."

"In a three story apartment in Kensington?" He shot her a pointed look. "You can afford this on a nurse's salary?"

"Daddy left me a trust fund, all right?" she groaned, exasperated, opening the door, "I thought you of all people would be able to sympathize. Now get in here before I drag you in."

After what he had just seen, he did not doubt that she would.

* * *

She led Lew into the marble floored hallway and through to the kitchen, peeking around the door cautiously to make sure no one was in. At this time of day, the residents would probably be at their club and out to tea respectively, but they would have to move quickly before they returned; she yanked open the freezer and began to rummage through to look for ice. _Leave it to these two to have a bloody deep freeze in the middle of a war._ Unable to find a tray of ice cubes, she settled for a pack of peas instead. _What a fucking mess._

She shook her head. It was interesting how her inner monologue was starting to sound increasingly like the obscene jargon of the paratroopers the more stressed she got.

"Here, hold this," she told Nixon, wrapping the peas in a towel and carefully pressing it to his nose. He flinched away from the frosty touch.

"Ah! That's _cold_!"

Smiling faintly, she grabbed his head to hold him still. He could be such a child sometimes. "It'll help," she assured him, "Now stop whining and hold onto it."

Her hand remained on the back of his neck, toying absentmindedly with the short hairs there. She lowered her gaze down to her shoes, trying to escape his scrutiny as he continued to stare. Despite it all, it was comforting to have him there; he was like an anchor, grounding her, a safety blanket that reminded her of home in the midst of a tough situation. It was ironic, to say the least, but she was slowly beginning to feel like it might be all right.

Then, because Murphy's law dictated it should, they heard the door open and both looked up; he in surprise, she in alarm.

"What was that?" he asked, making a little noise of complaint when she pinched him.

"Sh!"

Silence. Eleanor held her breath; maybe they'd just imagined it.

"Hello?"

_Oh no. Oh no, oh no..._

"God_damn_ it," she ground out, ignoring the way Nix's eyebrows shot up at hearing her swear like that and pushing him towards the adjacent dining room, "Get back there."

"Ellie, what in the-"

"Get back there and keep quiet!" she hissed, shoving him behind a wall, "Go!" She focused on regulating her breathing and slowing her racing heart as she walked back to the kitchen, straightening her uniform. It wasn't really working, but she appeared composed enough when the door opened.

Before her stood none other than Peter Feversham, and her heart ached at the sight of the beloved, appealing features. She swallowed, remembering to switch accents. "Peter?"

"Nell?" he asked, incredulous, taking off his hat, "Dear Lord, what are you doing here?"

She forced a smile, faked nonchalance. Inside, she was panicking, all but falling apart. "You gave me a key, remember?" she replied airily, "I thought you'd be at the club."

"I forgot-" he paused, shaking his head, "My God- darling, you're so thin."

_You think this is thin? You should have seen me a year ago._

"Occupational hazard."

"And why on earth are you in US clobber?"

"Temporary assignment."

_Keep it short. Don't reveal anything. Figure out an exit strategy._

"So you really are in the midst of all that ghastly spook business?"

She didn't answer. Before she had left three and a half years ago, she had told him she'd be working for a special branch of the government, but had never specified which. It seemed like Feversham was cleverer that she had given him credit for and had figured it out by himself; her silence only served to confirm his suspicions.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, leaning against the sink, "No wonder the Ministry wouldn't disclose any information."

Her eyes widened. "You tried to find me?"

"After the wedding, yes," he nodded, "Not even Ed got through."

_Never mind the 506th finding out, it's this dunce I need to worry about. _She pressed a hand to her temple. "Peter, I _told_ you," she said despairingly, "I told you not to try." And she had; she had explained as best she could that she would be leaving but that he shouldn't look for her. He had promised her he wouldn't at the time, but it seemed he had broken that vow.

"But we miss you, Glorious!" he exclaimed, striding over towards her only to halt when she recoiled from him, "We've been frightfully worried about you."

_Not worried enough to keep you from marrying Lizzie Tallis, _she thought bitterly, feeling the old numbness settle back over her. "There's a reason it's called 'Special Operations', Peter," she sighed, looking at him imploringly, "You can't tell anyone about it."

"Would I ever cross you?"

She laughed humorlessly. "Not on purpose," she conceded, "But a few G&Ts later and we all know you're on the floor, spewing nonsense."

His smile was sad and just the slightest bit wistful. "Lost none of your wit, then."

There were more pressing issues to worry about than the loss of her astuteness, however. "Promise me you shan't tell anyone about it," she pleaded, "Not even Ed." _Especially not Ed, because the nosy bugger would no doubt use all of his father's contacts to find out more._

"All right, your secret is safe with me," he ensured her, and she slowly let out her breath. One hurdle down, goodness knew how many more to go.

"But why are you back?" he asked, and she fought the urge to grab Lew and just run off - survival instincts were a bleak thing sometimes. "Is the war over?"

_Is he even serious? _

The blank expression on his face told her that yes, apparently he was. "Does it seem to you like the war is over?" she responded, blown away by his ignorance, "Christ, old boy, I just happened to be in town."

He had the guts to look hurt, despite the fact that he was the one breaking her heart all over again. "And so you sneak about and don't come to see us?"

_Us. Right. _She fought the urge to smack him. _I was a fool to believe I could go back. How could this man - this boy - ever understand everything I have seen and done? How could I ever accept his frivolity, his selfish vanity, his conceited arrogance; how did I not see it before?_

"I have a train to catch," she whispered, voice breaking; she closed her eyes briefly and plastered on a mask of impassivity, "I only needed to get some ice."

"Ice?" he asked, impervious to her distress, "Whatever for?"

"Lew?" she called, grimacing at how taken aback her friend looked when he entered- how betrayed.

"Who's he?" Feversham questioned, pointing, perturbed to find a stranger in his house.

"Hi. Lewis-" the lieutenant began in a near-parody of his attempted introduction to the captain in the bar. Eleanor moved to stand in front of him, too tired to deal with much more difficulty now.

"Nobody. A friend."

"Lewis Nobody, eh?" Peter laughed, a little derisively, then clapped a hand over his mouth, "Oh, is he a part of your cover?" He sneered. "How _clever._"

_God, just make this stop. _"Peter, for once in your life, shut up," Eleanor told him bluntly, the first time she had ever been so brusque to him. Enough was enough. She turned to Nixon. "We better go."

The intelligence officer nodded wordlessly and followed her to the front door with only a curt nod at Feversham to acknowledge him.

"Go where? To fight for King and Country?" the aristocrat called after them, sensing he was being snubbed. Eleanor whirled back to face him, eyes ablaze.

"Yes, because some of us have to!"

"Though I suppose it's Uncle Sam now," Feversham continued to mock, masking his own hurt with the barb; he had loved her, once, but he barely recognized the hardened woman who had spoken to him so sharply. "Shall we all be puritans? Really, Glorious, consorting with the Yanks-"

"The Yanks happen to be our allies!" she cried out, mouth working soundlessly for a second before continuing in a softer tone, "And I happen to be one of them." She sighed. "Go back to your clubs and cocktails, Peter, and forget you ever saw me."

"Glorious..."

Her smile was pained. "Give Lizzie my best."

* * *

Eleanor was walking rapidly again, almost fleeing the well-kept lanes of her old home. Tears stung her eyes. She wanted to run away, to run to safety and leave it all behind; it was with a choked down sob that she realized she really just wanted to run to the sanctuary of Dick Winters' arms. That realization was perhaps the worst of all.

This time, Nixon had less trouble keeping up, nor did he bother to hide his surprise and annoyance. "You wanna explain what the fuck I just heard?"

She bit her lip, wrapping her arms across her chest. "Lew-"

"I mean- not only are you British, you're a goddamn _spook_?" He grabbed her arm and forced her to stop walking, softening only a little when he saw she was genuinely upset. "Who _are_ you?"

"For the love God, Lew, keep it down," she murmured, looking around to ensure they were alone, "If you'd been listening to that conversation at all, you'd realize I _cannot_ discuss this. Not here, not now. All you need to know is that I'm on your side and that I'll explain things as soon as I can."

Nixon studied her for a moment. Her eyes, brightened by tears she refused to let fall, were truthful, and she was still the same girl he had befriended and grown close to. It was mind boggling to think she wasn't just a nurse, and it would definitely take him some time to get used to the idea, but she was still Ellie Fairfax, spy or no. She always would be; it seemed to him that somehow, the past few months had been the most truthful in a long while for her. What ulterior motives could she possibly have for befriending a bunch of paratroopers, after all?

"Okay," he breathed, seeing her posture slacken in relief, "Okay."

"Thank you," she said quietly, and continued on. He shook his head.

"I'm not sure what surprised me more, though, the fact that you're-" he gestured vaguely, "You know- or that you're friends with Lord Fauntleroy back there."

Her smile, though tremulous, was more genuine than any he had seen on her whilst in the fancy apartment. "Let's just get to the train, Lew."

* * *

It took Eleanor a good hour to straighten out her muddled thoughts and figure out what on earth to do next; even then, things remained unforeseeable and confused. She rested her head against the cool glass of the train carriage, staring out vacantly over the English countryside.

First: deployment. That was straight forward enough. Transfer her unit to the 326th, make sure they were looked after and would be provided for were she to perish. Go to London. Keep her composure, work her hardest, and hope for the best.

Second: Peter. By far the simplest. Sod him. End of story. (If only it felt like that.)

Third: Lew. Well, his finding out wasn't the end of the world. Of all the men in the regiment, he would probably understand her position best, and she trusted him enough to keep his silence as well as he could. It wasn't like he knew all of her history, anyway; there were dozens of British agents that had worked in France, and without the specifics, she doubted it would get the Germans very far. Of course, there was also a rather large chance of him getting killed before they would even have the chance of interrogating him.

The thought sent a rush of panic down her spine. _I don't want to lose him. I don't want him to die. _She squeezed her eyes shut. _Stop thinking about it. Focus. Fourth..._

Across from her, the very object of her thoughts was getting more than a little worried himself. "You all right?"

She nodded absentmindedly. "Fine." Blinking, she looked around the carriage, determining that it was empty._ Might as well answer his questions as best as I can. Could stop him from asking them of others. _"What do you want to know?"

"Well," he said slowly, "Let's start with your real name." The choice of question surprised her a little; she had anticipated something along the lines of _who do you work for_ or _why did you lie to us. _Perhaps Nix really did understand matters more than most would.

"Eleanor Fairfax."

He chuckled. "Ha. Funny."

"You think so?" she asked, arching an eyebrow, "You could try Eleanor Bennett, perhaps, or one of my French names- but I really couldn't tell you those."

He held up his hands. "All right, I got it. Fairfax is your real name."

"It is."

"But why are you using it? Doesn't that kind of go against undercover 101?"

"Never used it before. Seems like my true name is the best cover I have at this point."

Nixon nodded slowly, taking in the tidbit of information. "How long have you been active?"

"Since just after the Blitz."

"Jesus. No wonder you got the dates mixed up." He frowned, only now realizing that she had reverted back to sounding American. "You worked for the British."

"I _am_ British."

"Then what are you doing with us?"

"I'm also American, through my father's side of the family. The OSS requested I come work with them."

"So what, you're working for the limeys but then we come to town and turn out to be the more attractive offer?"

She smiled thinly. "Don't flatter yourself. I had to get out of France for a bit. Krauts were getting too close." At his nonplussed look, she elaborated further. "The Brits had me on forced leave, I couldn't sit still, the Americans needed an operative with European experience to help them prep for invasion and liaise with the locals." She leaned back in her seat. "Bob's your uncle."

"Still doesn't explain why you're stuck with us."

"Do the math, map guy," she said, her tone less snippy and more teasing than it had been before, "The 101st will be right in the middle of the action."

"The nursing's just a cover?"

"Partially. I had some previous training- thought I might as well make myself useful."

"Huh. Why nursing?"

"Shiny little thing called the Geneva Conventions." She didn't mention the majority of the said documents often went out the window the moment one got into combat. On paper, it was a good enough explanation, and Nixon was nodding in understanding.

"Nurses are treated better when captured."

"Yeah."

"Wow. Oddly, it explains a lot."

_Jesus Christ, just how transparent have I been? Harry already suspected I wasn't just a newbie nurse, Sink figured out I wasn't a freshly recruited OSS neophyte either, and now Lew thinks the bombshell I dropped on him actually makes sense?_

"You know, rumors floating around the base," he specified at her blank look, "Always thought they were crazy, but..."

_So long as they don't know any of the details, I suppose. God, what a clusterfuck._

"Don't tell anyone," she said, leaning forward, "I'm serious, Nix. If the Germans find out I'm back..."

He whistled, long and low. "Krauts want you that bad, huh?" She clenched her jaw and looked away. Nixon grabbed his hip flask. "You don't trust us?"

"I don't trust the Germans not to use torture if they capture you. The less all of you know, the better."

The lieutenant gulped down a bit of his Vat 69. "Fair point. So if I'd ask you about the specifics of your mission-"

"Classified."

"Or the details of your previous assignments?"

"Also classified." Nixon sighed and offered her a drink of the whiskey.

Silence stretched on between them for a while, both lost in contemplation. All things considered, Lew had taken it astoundingly well; he did not seem to be treating her any different, at least for the time being, and she was fairly certain her trust in him hadn't been misplaced. Once again, she was starting to believe things might work out, like this wouldn't be the end of her blissfully happy time with the 506th. It seemed that her time in Aldbourne had returned some of her past optimism to her, though it was peculiar that Nixon should inspire it in her.

He looked at her, dark eyes unreadable. "What about Dick?"

The proverbial rug was pulled from underneath her feet, her heart sinking.

_Fourth: Dick Winters._

_

* * *

_

The rest of the journey was mostly spent in silence as Eleanor quietly despaired and pondered. _What about Dick. _Three simple words and she had been lost all over again. She had always known the chance of a relationship with him actually working would be slim, but she perceived now just how doomed her infatuation was. This whole situation wasn't fair on him; while he had never been anything but good and considerate to her, she had consistently been forced to lie to him. He had no idea who she really was or what she had done, and she doubted he would be quite as partial to her if he did. He certainly deserved much better.

_I am a woman of shadows; a creature of deception and deprivation. I can't afford to love._

Which left her with another dilemma. She knew she shouldn't tell him, knew it might put her in danger, but he deserved to know. In a world of uncertainty, secrets and duplicity, it was the least she could do. He had put his trust in her and told her all about his life back home; it was high time she did the same, no matter what the consequences.

When the bus arrived in Aldbourne, it was raining steadily, as if the very weather reflected her dejected mood and aimed to remind her of that night not so very long ago when they had almost kissed. She hesitated in the doorway of the vehicle, knowing how hard the next few hours - the next few days - would be. Lew came up behind her and, moving past, squeezed her hand briefly in support, their eyes meeting before he hopped off and ran for shelter. Taking a deep breath, Eleanor pulled herself together and walked down the steps, the rain splashing down on her face as the bus drove off.

Her breath caught. Across the road, none other than Dick Winters was coming out of Mrs. Lamb's laundrette. She was tempted to run again, but found herself frozen in place, hair plastered to her face and clothes getting soaked through rapidly. Sure enough, he noticed her standing there and halted with a smile, tenderness and a sincere pleasure to see her shining in his eyes.

If she had thought her heart broken before, it was shattering into a million pieces now.

* * *

**Thank you so much for reading! You guys have been amazing with the reviews lately - keep 'em coming. =)**

** Just in case you're wondering (and I shall pretend that you are in a moment of sheer vanity): while there's a lot of different music I've been listening to while writing this - period appropriate stuff, classical pieces, soundtracks, etc. - I find that there is one track that I somehow keep on coming back to and that has, in my mind at least, become synonymous with this story and Eleanor as a character. It's "Tennessee" (and variations there on) from Hans Zimmer's soundtrack for Pearl Harbor, which is a bit of a****meh film but has a truly lovely score. I'm pretty sure the full version's up on YouTube somewhere if you want to give it a listen!**

**On a related note, all the chapter titles are in fact names of old songs - with the exception of "Miss Fairfax Regrets", which is a play on Cole Porter's "Miss Otis Regrets". Thanks again for reading!  
**


	13. Ev'ry Time We Say Goodbye

**Disclaimer: this story is based solely on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.**

* * *

Eleanor leaned in the doorway of her office, watching her girls move about the infirmary as she had so often done before. It had always been a soothing habit, a way of reassuring herself that they were all doing well and that these feelings of home and affection were real. This time was different, however; for all she knew, this might be the only remaining moment she saw any of them, that they'd be together like this. She had resigned herself to it over the past couple of days, but it had left her with a persevering ache in her heart, more bitter than sweet and unfortunately irremediable.

The long months of preparation had finally come to a finish, the ten-thousand dollar jump imminent, their greatest test approaching. _It all ends today_.

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, letting her breath out slowly. It had to be done. This illusion of peace had gone on long enough; it was time to wake up and face the music. There was no other way. Her shoulders squared and postured straightened, but her arms remained folded as she called out to her second in command.

"Betty?"

The dark-haired nurse turned around instantly, the smile that lingered on her pretty face fading the moment she saw her CO's solemn expression. Eleanor inclined her head in acknowledgment. "Get the team together," she requested, "Nancy too."

"Yes ma'am."

She wandered back into her office, leaning against her desk and running her fingers along the rough wood pensively, imprinting the feel of the grains into her memory. If this was to be the last she saw of Aldbourne, she intended to remember it all; every last little detail, every word, every sensation. It was a small thing compared to the immense difference her time in Wiltshire had made to her psyche, but it was one of the few matters she could control at this point.

Her OSS team filtered in and halted in front of her.

"Ladies."

"Ma'am."

"First of, an announcement," Eleanor began, clasping her hands together sedately and turning to look at the youngest person in the room, "Nancy'll be joining the team. Help her out whenever necessary."

The girl's face lit up at the unexpected accolade, and Eleanor smiled at her fondly. "Congrats, Nance." Since first expressing her desire to join the team, Nancy had made leaps and bounds of progress and had proven worthy of her trust. She had worked hard and gone above and beyond what was expected of her; it was only fair that she should be allowed to join them now.

The other girls reached out to pat their friend on the back, congratulating her sincerely. They had always been sisterly towards her, and to see her succeed was as much a pleasure to them as it was to her.

"Thank you, ma'am!"

"Second..." The room fell silent as her smile disappeared. "I have some news. I'll be leaving for London tomorrow to deploy to France. You'll be joining 326th medical the day after."

All eleven of them looked stunned. They had to have known this was coming, but it remained an upset to hear their chief would be leaving them. Eleanor turned to her deputy. "Betty, I expect you to take charge in my absence."

Edwards nodded gravely, aware of the faith their CO was putting in her. "Yes, lieutenant."

"Once D-Day arrives, you will be crossing the channel after the initial assault on the beaches is over, and meet up with me there," Eleanor carried on, "Until then, I'd ask that you continue to perform as if I were still around. Take care of your elements. Make me proud." She knew that they would, had every confidence in their ability to take care of themselves, their jobs and each other, and yet she could not help but feel anxious at having to abandon them - if only for a little while.

"Yes, Katie?" she called, seeing the girl's hand being raised. The nurse fidgeted anxiously.

"Ma'am, what happens if-" she broke off, frowning, seemingly unable to finish the sentence, "If-"

"If I die?" Eleanor finished for her, just a little blunt; there was really no gentle way of putting it. Katie nodded. "You'll stick with the 326th unless requested otherwise."

"But you won't, right?" Maria spoke up from behind Anne, the usually vociferous woman suddenly sounding very young and uncertain, "You won't die."

Eleanor sighed. "I hope not, but the truth is..." she looked around the group, shaking her head sadly, "We can't be certain." They were quiet then, each lost in their own thoughts, and their commanding officer felt her heart swell with pride to see how outwardly collected they were, how well they seemed to be dealing with what was by all means a frightening prospect. She had always known she had chosen well, but this only underlined it once again.

"Girls, it's been-" she paused briefly, pressing her hands together more forcefully, "An honor to work with you." She meant every word of it.

Judy smiled a little. "The honor was ours, ma'am."

"And it'll continue to be so once we get to France," Grace said firmly, her tone brokering no argument.

Eleanor's lips quirked up. "Yeah." She returned their fervent salute. "Dismissed."

The nurses exited quietly, their heads close together as they took solace in each others company. Betty, not entirely unpredictably, stayed behind and was about to close the door when Nancy Campbell suddenly bolted back inside and threw her arms around Eleanor. Stunned at first, the operative soon returned the embrace, touched by the spontaneous show of affection.

Nancy withdrew with blushing cheeks and a muttered (if unnecessary) apology, and Betty watched her leave with a smile before settling down on the desk next to her boss.

"Are you going to be all right, Elle?" she asked candidly, and her friend shrugged.

"I think so."

"Have you talked to the fellas yet?"

"They're my next stop."

"What about Lieutenant Winters?"

Eleanor's eyes narrowed. "What about him?" she asked sharply, not sure if she was comfortable with this particular topic.

Betty's smile was compassionate. "Due respect, ma'am, but he's crazy about you."

The remark was out of line and they both knew it. When they had first met, Eleanor would have reprimanded her strongly for it; the fact that she did not and let her subordinate get away it went to show just how much their relationship had evolved over time. Still, she wasn't exactly keen on discussing this matter either.

"Betty-"

"It's true!" the nurse exclaimed, "And I don't believe you're wholly impartial to him, either."

In all truth, the fact that Betty had so clearly hit the nail on its head was what annoyed her most. While she had been able to sort out most of her thoughts and feelings regarding her forthcoming return to France, Dick Winters remained a haphazard bundle of confusion, infatuation and apprehension in her mind. She knew she would have to talk to him one way or the other - it wouldn't do to just disappear and not let him know about it - but she wasn't quite sure yet precisely what she would tell him, or if she ever would be.

"Talk to him, Ellie," Betty encouraged sympathetically, bumping their shoulders together.

"I will," Eleanor whispered, smiling at her friend in thanks. Even if she wasn't too keen on the discussion itself, Betty's intentions in starting it had been good.

"Good," the nurse declared, standing up, "And take care of yourself, would you?"

That got her a chuckle. "Yes, _mother_."

Edwards reached out a hand. "I'll see you in hell."

Eleanor shook it. "Yeah. See you in hell."

* * *

She found Dick leaning against the low wall that encircled the town church with Lieutenant Thomas Meehan, Easy Company's latest commanding officer. At just twenty-two, Meehan was young to be in charge of an entire company, but he was a good man and a respected leader, which was more than could be said of his predecessor. Eleanor recalled the incident with the cows mysteriously appearing on the base well; it had only been a day or so later that she had heard the true story behind it from Harry, who had explained how Luz - urged on by the majority of first platoon - had used his famed skills of impersonation to fool Sobel into cutting a farmer's fence. Of course, this had led Sobel to court martial Winters over an ignored order that was utterly trivial at best and disputable at worst, which in turn had caused the NCOs to rebel and resign their assignments.

Had Sink been half the man he was, he would have lined them up and shot them all. Eleanor still shuddered at the mere thought of it. As it was, he had only transferred Salty Harris out of the regiment and busted Ranney to private; it seemed he knew his men well enough to realize what the real problem was. Sobel had been shipped off to some jump training school for non combatants and Meehan had been transferred in from Baker Company. She did not doubt that a lot of lives would be saved because of it.

"Lieutenants," she greeted the men, heart already racing a million miles an hour. _Stop it_, she chided, _get yourself together._ It was almost three years to the day she had first been dropped into occupied France, a green, barely graduated recruit eager to help and please. Now, standing in front of her two friends - an astute, capable officer with more experience than she cared to recount - she was more anxious than she had been all those long years ago. The irony did not escape her.

"Hey, Ellie!" Meehan smiled, looking up from a stack of papers he had been studying. His smile soon turned into a frown. "Is everything all right? You look a little pale."

She forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply in an attempt to steady her nerves. "Actually, Tom, could I just talk to Dick for a minute?"

"Sure," he said kindly, as if sensing something was wrong, and began to pack up his gear, "I'll see you two later." He inclined his head to Winters. "Dick."

"Thanks," Eleanor called after him, unintentionally finding herself studying the man in front of her; the relaxed curve of his broad shoulders, the way his long fingers bent around the fountain pen he was holding, the freckles that were more visible now that he had been exposed to more sun. He looked up at her, eyes as blue as the sky and the slightest bit concerned. "You okay?"

_You have to do this. You have to. He deserves nothing less._

"Yeah," she whispered, clearing her throat and realizing that for once she had no idea what to say to him, "Yeah, I uh-" she started again, hesitating before deciding to get straight to it with a shake of her head, "I'm being moved to another base tomorrow to prepare for deployment. My unit's following a couple of days later."

"Oh," he breathed, eyes flicking away from her in what seemed to be disappointment. It took a moment ere he continued, face so carefully blank she knew it was intentional - how many times had she used that expression herself, after all? "Well, I - I'll see you on the other side."

Eleanor sighed, rubbing at her temple absentmindedly. God, she should have addressed this whole issue a lot sooner. "Dick-" she tried, falling silent when he suddenly rambled on. "I'm sorry," he said, fiddling with the pen between his fingers, "I shouldn't have-" he paused, licking his lips, trying to find the right words as he exhaled in frustration, "I let myself go. It was stupid."

_He's bloody well apologizing_, she realized, horrified, gaping at him. "Dick," she repeated, protesting this time, but he carried on as if he never even heard her. "I know we're about go into combat. We're both officers, I should have known better-"

"_Richard_!"

That shut him up. She swallowed down the lump in her throat, desperately fighting down the regret and sadness threatening to overwhelm her. _Leave it to him to express regret when I'm about break faith with him._ "You don't need to apologize," she said quietly, glancing anywhere but his beloved face, "It's- nothing happened, for Christ's sake."

There was a brief flash of hurt in his eyes before he managed to mask it, and she winced at the sight of it. "Even if it had, it takes two to tango. It's as much my fault as it is yours."

Winters nodded, not so much agreeing with that statement as deducing that she too had come to the conclusion that this - whatever this was - was not a good idea. "But we can't afford attachment," he murmured, lowering his voice to match hers.

"Yes," she nodded, then abruptly shook her head, "I mean- no. We can't." _Focus_, she reprimanded herself, _get back to the topic_. "That's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

Dick leaned back against the wall, head tilted slightly in anticipation as he observed her carefully. "All right."

She suddenly found it hard to breathe, looking down at the ground and biting her lip. It would be so much easier - so much safer - to just tell him it wouldn't work between them and leave it at that, but she couldn't. Not now.

"Ellie," he said, noticing she was growing upset and automatically reaching for her hand, only to stop himself and grasp her shoulder instead, "What is it?"

She exhaled tremulously. "I've been in this war- longer than I've told any of you."

"I know," he smiled slightly, trying to reassure her, "You told me, remember?"

"That's the thing," she whispered, "I didn't."

Now he was just plain confused. "I don't understand-"

"I'm not just a nurse, Dick. I'm OSS."

_There_. She had said it. Her chest felt physically tight as she saw him going through several stages of shock, mouth forming tacit phrases before abandoning them. "Strategic Services?" he finally managed to croak, coughing awkwardly, blue eyes wide.

"Yeah," she admitted, "British Special Ops before that."

"_British_ Special Ops?" he frowned, "But you're American."

"Half-American," she corrected him softly, "Half-British."

Nodding slowly, he managed to ask one of the questions she had dreaded the most. "Why-" his voice faltered and he winced, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I couldn't. Nobody knows besides Sink and Taylor."

The pen fell from his stiff fingers and dropped onto the ground. "You're undercover." It was more of a statement than a question, and her silence was all the answer he needed. She could almost see the dots being connected and the questions arising in his mind. "Jesus."

Sure, he had heard the rumors about her - the shooting range, the jump gear incident - but he had dismissed them as just that: rumors. He knew her as a kind and intelligent young woman, prone to occasional bouts of solemnity, but after years in the ETO he had hardly been able to blame her for that.

"I was attached to the 506th because they needed an experienced operative on the front," she continued automatically, the ready answer sounding wooden even to her own ears. There was so much to tell him, but how much would he event want to know?

"What about your unit?" he asked, thinking of the dozen or so girls she had taken under her wing and tutored. He remembered how troubled she had been when she had told him they'd be working on the front, but now wondered if that too had all been an act.

"My primary team is trained to support me in my duties, but we'll be running your field hospital too. The nursing's not just a cover."

"But it _is_ a cover." He sighed, shaking his head sorrowfully. "I don't know the first thing about you, do I?"

"You know more than most."

"You mean you didn't lie to me?" The cynicism in his voice was positively jarring for the usually gentle-mannered lieutenant and she flinched at the sound of it.

"I didn't say that," she responded, suddenly weary, her whole posture slumping. She wasn't quite sure what she had expected this conversation to come to, but the betrayal in his eyes tore at her heart, and she hated herself for causing it.

"Then what _are_ you saying?"

"I don't know, all right?" she blurted, running a shaking hand through her hair, "I don't know. I mean, God, I spent three _years_ in France pretending to be someone else. Different names, different jobs." She choked on something between a laugh and a sob. "'Someone just like me who went across the sea.'"

Winters was watching her, torn between disquiet and pity. "Don't you understand?" she pleaded, "I've been another person for so long that my best cover right now is myself, working as a nurse for the 101st." She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowed, sighed. "If I could have told you I would have-"

"But you didn't," he said faintly, sounding hurt, "I thought you trusted me."

"I do!" she cried, "You know I do, but what if you get caught on D-Day? The Germans are after me, Dick. It could put the entire regiment at risk."

"Ellie," he whispered, horrified, "I would never betray you."

"Don't say that," she demanded, her tone urgent and her countenance fierce. As much as she wanted to believe it and as great a belief she had in him, she knew all too well that such a promise could prove to be their undoing; she had seen too much of war to believe otherwise. "I've seen what men are capable of- I-"

A couple of the men walked by and she fell silent abruptly, twisting away to hide her face and focusing on getting her breathing under control again. _Breathe in. Breathe out. You'll make it through._ She glanced up at his pained face. _Though I'm not sure I want to._

Once the troopers had passed, he turned back to her. "So your name really is Eleanor Fairfax."

"It is."

"But what about everything else?" His hushed doubts went straight to her already broken heart; she felt if her knees were about to give out. He wasn't about to let up either. "The Red Cross?" he grilled, more and more dismayed with every passing moment, "Your family? Our-" his voice caught and he looked away, his jaw clenching. She did not like the hint of hopelessness that seemed to have settled over him at all.

"Not all of it was a lie," she answered thickly, feeling the sting of tears behind her eyelids, "And you don't always need to know specifics to _know_ a person."

"I don't-"

"Dick," she breathed regretfully, reaching out to touch his cheek but freezing mid-movement as troubled blue eyes snapped up to meet her own, her arm falling down again uselessly. "Think about it. What do you know?"

"You-" he sighed, "You bite your lip when you're nervous. You love dancing and poetry and old films. Your cheeks dimple when you smile, and your hand-" he shook his head, hands stretching out towards her, "Ellie..."

She took his hands in her own, smiling through her tears. "Perhaps that's all there is to me- all you need to know," she said hoarsely, and maybe it was. Maybe in the end she really was nothing more than a young girl who deep down yearned for love.

"As for the rest..." Letting go of his hands, her fingers tingling at the sudden loss of contact, she dug up a file from her bag and held it out to him. "The rest is in here." He took it from her, and she gave him a last, lingering, quavering smile. "I'll see you over there."

She was exposing herself more than she ever had before by giving him the information and she was well aware of it, but in all truth it was a lost battle already. Whatever the outcome, he was entitled to know, and his virtue and integrity was one of the few things she truly believed in after years of wariness and secrecy.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she was about turn away, but his she halted as he called her name, looking back at him over her shoulder.

"Why tell me now?"

The tears fell. "Because I do trust you."

She walked away from him then, unsure she would ever be able to forgive herself by. The echoes of a song mixed with the memories of their time together and haunted her every step.

_I never get the chance, this is a fine romance..._

* * *

The next morning, her tears faded to a yielding melancholy, an uncommonly somber Harry Welsh took her to say goodbye to the men. Easy Company had just returned from breakfast and were getting ready for the day, scurrying about their barracks, laughing and talking amongst themselves. "You ready, beautiful?" Welsh asked her, smiling reassuringly, and she answered him with a nod of her head. "Okay."

"Easy Company, listen up!" he called out, tilting his head back as he always did when saluting or addressing his soldiers. The men gathered round, a few stragglers jogging out of the buildings to see what the commotion was about, all of them snapping to attention dutifully with looks of mild surprise. A chorus of 'sirs' rang out before Welsh put them at ease.

"Gentlemen, Lieutenant Fairfax is leaving to prepare for deployment today. As you won't be seeing her again until D-Day, she's here to say goodbye."  
Eleanor's lips quirked into a strained smile, watching the men's eager faces fall, and took a moment to memorize their features. Smith's boyish smile. Hoobler's ridiculous ears and puckish looks. Randleman's reliably solid frame. Inwardly she implored whatever deity might be out there to comfort and keep them. It devastated her to know she would not see them all again.

Her smile turned to laughter when Luz - charming George Luz with his sly eyes and ready jokes - burst out into a spontaneous rendition of 'for she's a jolly good fellow', a slight blush creeping into her face when the better part of the boys joined in.

The self-proclaimed company clown was the first to step forward and fold her into his arms, whispering a heartfelt "be safe" in her ear before pulling back and smacking a kiss on her cheek much to the amusement of his fellow troopers. It did not take long for the others to follow; some, like Talbert and Alley, were daring enough to embrace her too, while others like Blithe shyly shook her hand and wished her well. It was funny how the men were almost more physically affectionate towards her than her own unit, but then that might have something to do with her not being their CO.

Gene Roe, breaking tradition, wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and drew her forehead against his own, reciting a hushed prayer and pressing his lips to her brow. Drawing back, the dark blue of his eyes bored into her. "Take care of yourself out there, huh?" Promising him she would, she squeezed his hand and stepped back.

It didn't take long for Muck and Penkala to swoop in and ruffle her hair affectionately after that, the both of them smacked away by the more bashful Malarkey. Guarnere and Toye each gave her heartfelt lectures about how she had to keep herself safe and that if she somehow managed to get herself killed on the way in, they would drag her back from death just so they could kill her again themselves; all of this preceding tight hugs and loving slaps on the back. Shifty kissed her hand. Christenson, ever the artist, came running out of the depot with a set of sketches he'd been working on for her and that almost had her in tears all over again. She ran her hand over the paper reverently, tracing the outline of the drawings with a whispered word of thanks. They were beautiful.

Last to come up was Lipton, who pressed a brotherly kiss to her hair and told her he'd see her soon. He sounded so convinced she almost believed it; of course, he had little idea what she was really about to get herself into. Smiling sadly, she waved at the men - her friends, her boys - as Welsh led her away to the regimental headquarters where Nixon was waiting for them.

"So," Lewis said, walking up to his friends, "Ready to make the big jump?" His insinuations were crystal clear, and she raised an eyebrow at his daring.  
"Shouldn't I be asking that of you?"

He smirked. "Perhaps." Looking around the area, he frowned as he noticed the absence of the fourth member of their little group. "Say, where's our resident red-head?"

Harry was about to answer the question but Eleanor was quick to interrupt him. "We already said goodbye yesterday." she said lightly, dismissing the matter as if two hearts hadn't been broken less than twenty-four hours ago. Nixon narrowed his eyes at her dubiously, but didn't get a chance to pursue the matter as the jeep that would take her to the station pulled up in front of the mansion. _Talk about timing._

"Well," she said softly, "I guess this is it." She moved to embrace them both, holding on tightly for several long moments before sniffling quietly and pulling back with a watery smile. To her surprise, she noticed that Colonel Sink had joined them on the driveway.

"You didn't think I was just going to let you slip away, did you, lieutenant?" he said archly, growing serious when he reached out a hand to her. It was a sign of respect and acknowledgment that was as unexpected as it was gratifying. "Godspeed, Eleanor."

"Thank you, sir," she said earnestly, hoping to convey with her eyes that which she could not say out loud. _Thank you for taking a chance on me; for understanding and keeping my secret_. She saluted the three officers formally before climbing into the waiting vehicle. _Thank you for giving me a home._

* * *

Sitting aboard the train to London and watching the world go by, Eleanor took some time to reflect on the past half year. The cool steel of her gun pressed against the small of her back much as it had on that September afternoon when she had first come to Aldbourne, but it was an annoyance now rather than a comfort. She hadn't worn it since the incident at the shooting range with Lieutenant Speirs, and it felt strangely alien to be carrying it again.

Some might say she had grown soft. She probably had. It was true that it was harder these days to switch off her emotions and shut down to the bare necessities to spare herself the hurt; but then this very weakness might also be a strength. _It's better to have loved and lost than not to have loved at all - as much of a cliche as that is._ She had never anticipated any of the many things she had found in Wiltshire; the friendship, the regained equilibrium, the love. Incredibly, a few months in England had changed her nearly as much as several years in France had - and maybe, just maybe, she might be able to harness all those resurfaced feelings and use them for good.

Once, she had signed up to serve and make a difference, to honor the memory of her father by doing her bit in the war effort. In essence, that hadn't changed; yet somewhere along the lines, it had stopped being about king and country, or even president and country. Nowadays, it was about her girls and seeing them through the war. It was about the 506th regiment of the 101st airborne - about 2nd battalion, about Easy Company - and keeping them as safe, sane and happy as she possibly could.

And damned if that wasn't the best cause she ever had fought or ever would fight for.

* * *

**Wew! This was seriously one of the hardest things I have ever had to write. Hope you all like it and it hasn't turned into too much of a melodramatic sobfest… please do let me know if it is. I'm not sure I'm a 100% pleased with it, but I wanted to get this out before the start of what will be a busy weekend.**

**And off to Normandy we go at last- I think I can honestly say I share Eleanor's sentiment of finding it a little surreal to think that all this lead up is finally coming to fruition... having said that, I have planned out matters up until the beginning of 'Replacements', and there's plenty of action, camaraderie and romance ahead. =)**

**As an aside, the line of poetry Eleanor recites is from 'Back' by Wilfred Gibson, a World War 1 poet. Thank you as always for reading and reviewing - your continued support means the world to me!**


	14. On A Wing And A Prayer

**Disclaimer: this story is based chiefly on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.**

**

* * *

**Having arrived in London without too much trouble, Eleanor decided to steer clear of the Kensington area and instead settled down near Paddington Station to await her appointments at the Special Operations Executive and Office of Strategic Services headquarters. She spent the evening bent over reports and mission details with a precious cup of tea, the blacked out room lit mostly by candles and old fashioned lamps as she studied them. The assignment was in essence quite simple: get to Normandy, get things organized. It seemed they had left the how and why up to her own discretion, saying only that they would expect detailed accounts of enemy activity and locations where possible.

She chewed on the end of her pencil thoughtfully. Given just how much she needed to blend in, nights ops were probably inevitable, as was a certain level of fraternization with the Germans. Mapping the area might be tricky, never mind getting the reports back across the pond. Then of course there was the local resistance; they would have to be readied for action, marshaled, briefed. Sabotage and overt strikes were a no until D-Day - there could be no risk of detection, not now - but that did not mean she could not prepare them for it.

A shiver ran down her spine. It surprised her how objectively she could think of it, how easy it had been to switch back to her old ways. At least this time there was no violence expected until the invasion itself rolled around. She would be able to adapt and adjust to life in France again whilst lying low; the fact that a single step out of line could jeopardize everything was both a blessing and a curse.

Skimming down the page, a passage towards the bottom of the brief caught her attention. _Expect to liaise with a British operative. _She grimaced, leaning back in her chair with a sigh. _Great. Baggage. _An extra set of hands might come in use, but it would be endlessly more easy to operate by herself. Given how thinly stretched the old guard of the SOE was these days, it was likely her partner would be inexperienced or a downright novice. Having to look after them could very well complicate matters. It occurred to her that he could be male, too; while she might be able to pass as one of the locals' sister by herself, two newcomers in town would quickly be assumed to equal a couple. Somehow, having to pose as one felt like she'd be betraying Dick.

_Stop it, _she reprimanded herself, _what's done is done. Besides, if you want to keep him safe, do your damn job._

Next to her, the ancient gramophone the landlady had lent her - she could be very persuasive when she wanted to be, although this darling old dame hadn't needed much convincing - skipped to the Andrews Sisters.

_I'll be with you in apple blossom time..._

Eleanor made a disgusted little noise in the back of her throat at the hushed, saccharine notes and flipped the record around. A familiar bugle call rang out, and memories of an exultant jitterbug were inevitable. Sweeping the needle off with a tired hand, she resigned herself to the constant reminders of her friends. On the train, she had turned to the person sitting by her side to remark on a particularly comical looking individual at one of the stations, half expecting to find Harry or Lew there. In a dazed moment in London, she had almost snapped at a woman in uniform to stand up straight before realizing it was a WAAF rather than an ANC outfit she was wearing. While it was quite possible that the girl had been another operative on leave - a lot of them were with the airforce or nursing yeomanry - Eleanor was still meant to be an American and so had masked her near-slip with an apologetic smile and a hasty retreat. No doubt there would be more moments like this as time went by; they were everywhere and in every thing, and it seemed there was little she would be able to do about it.

The next morning she took a long bath, cleaning every inch of herself methodically, washing her hair and clipping her nails and going through all the other rituals she wasn't sure she'd be able to repeat at any point soon. Once washed, she found herself staring down at two sets of clothes; one American, the other British. _Which to pick? _She was going to be in London all day and would no doubt meet her supposed contact; her first stop would be on Baker Street. Would they expect her to show up in her old nursing livery? If she did and went to the US command post after, would the Yanks take offense at her wearing another country's - albeit an ally's - colors?

Glancing over at her tiny suitcase, she spotted the pretty rose print of a silk scarf and picked it up, running the smooth fabric through her fingers. It was a poignant memory of the wonderful Christmas spent in Aldbourne and only added to the empty ache in her heart, but she tied it around her neck meticulously and reached for the American uniform soon after.

_Lieutenant Eleanor Fairfax, twenty-four. American._

_

* * *

_

* * *

"Hello, Janice."

The mousy secretary looked up from behind her typewriter, eyes lighting up in recognition at the tall, pretty woman with the proud bearing standing before her. "Captain Fairfax!" The captain was somewhat of a legendary figure around the office; the last time Janice had seen her, she had been fresh out of Normandy, hollow-eyed and war-stained. It seemed her time in England had done her good. "You look well, ma'am."

Eleanor smiled at the woman, remembering her from her previous visits. Like with so many of the SOE's employees, looks were deceiving; despite her tiny size and unforthcoming appearance, she was a capable worker who ran her boss' office like clockwork. "It's Lieutenant Fairfax now," the operative said, tapping the single bar on her collar, "But thank you."

Janice was appalled. "They demoted you, ma'am?"

She hadn't even thought of that. It would have been odd for her to have swept into Aldbourne as a Captain, even if she supposedly had several years worth of non-military experience. "I guess they did," she shrugged, "Whatever works, right?"

"Yes ma'am."

The assistant understood. _Of course she does._ It was refreshing to be back amongst company who not only knew who she was and were aware of her past but also grasped the importance of covert work and maintaining of one's disguise. Eleanor unbuttoned her coat nimbly. "I believe General Gubbins is expecting me?"

"Yes, ma'am, but his current appointment is running late. Would you care for some tea while you wait?

_They must be really worried about me if they're offering me tea despite the rationing. _"Tea would be wonderful, thank you," she nodded gratefully, taking a seat as the secretary went to get the beverage for her. The office was much as she remembered it - make shift, even now, reflecting the ever-moving and ever-developing nature of the agency. She'd been told that there were currently almost forty active female agents either in the field or preparing to be deployed; things had certainly changed since she had first joined. Once, after Normandy, she had been offered a position in one of the training centers, but she had politely turned it down. At the time, she had been unsure whether she would be able to deal with sending another batch of wide-eyed women - most of whom would have little idea what they were really getting themselves into - into combat.

Now, her mind drifting to her brave American girls, the thought just seemed ironic.

"Nell?"

Her head snapped up. She hadn't been called that in a long while, and the voice seemed familiar.

"Little Nell Fairfax, is that you?"

Eleanor was up on her feet in an instant. "Leo!"

A brilliant cryptographer - rumor had it Bletchley Park had taken to referring to him as 'the one who got away' - Leo Marks was an old friend whom she had met all the way back in '42 after her return from Vichy. He was an amiable man with a wide, dimpled smile and a large Jewish nose, fond of poetry and storytelling. The two of them had hit it off quickly and she embraced him warmly. "What on earth are you doing here?"

His smile was endearingly cheerful. "Oh, you know, touching base. We're flooding the Boche with bad intel to distract them from Overlord."

This too she had heard about, a week or so ago when she had been in the city last. It was a smart move; by drawing the Germans' attention - and hopefully their men and material - away from their actual target, the invasion forces would hopefully have an easier time of it come D-Day. "Clever," she remarked, returning his smile and musing on the final decision for the allied expedition's designation, "The Yanks do have a thing for grand names, don't they?"

"They do at that," Marks nodded, raising an eyebrow, "Last I heard you were working for them."

There was no true accusation in his voice, but she knew he was saddened not to have heard from her even after she returned from the continent. Her expression turned apologetic and she crossed her arms loosely, shuffling her feet. "You know me. Regular Allied poster girl."

"The curse of dual citizenship, I suppose," he said lightly, watching her closely. Besides being darned good with riddles and codes, he was an astute sort of man who was good at reading people - especially his friends. "How are you doing- really?"

"I'm fine."

"Nell, we all heard the stories," he rebuked her gently, and she knew that she couldn't lie to him even if she tried, "Normandy got rather gruesome towards the end."

"Yeah, it did," she said, voice quiet as images of dead school children and wanted posters with her likeness on it flitted through her mind, "It, uh- it was pretty rough for a while." She felt his hand on her arm and managed a faint smile, suppressing the memories. "But I'm really okay now."

And she was. She doubted she would ever forget all that she had seen and lived through, but she had found a happy middle ground of being, of functioning without shutting down completely. It was not something she had been taught in training - it was probably something each person had to figure out for themselves - but here she was, put back together if not quite whole, alive and happy if not fully carefree.

Marks, noting that her smile though small was genuine, believed her. "I'm glad to hear it," he said, squeezing her arm, "You were one of the first- we couldn't possibly replace you."

Eleanor scoffed at that, arms tightening around herself. "I certainly made all of the mistakes."

"We all did, pet," her friend comforted, "Special Operations is a whole new way of warfare. You know that better than most."

"Hm," she responded vaguely, considering what he had said. While she would be the first to admit the potential of guerilla warfare and the successes that had been achieved by stimulating sabotage and insurrection, the intellectual in her could not deny that the blurring of the lines between combatants and non-combatants was a dangerous one. The entire Geneva conventions were based on the supposition that there was a clear divide between the military and civilians; once those boundaries were obscured, what ways would be left to protect the innocent without accidentally aiding the guilty?

She did not particularly want to think about it and chose to change the topic. "You hear from Tommy recently?"

"He's back in France- Paris, from what I understand."

"And you?" she nodded, thoughtful, "I was sorry to hear about your troubles in Holland."

Her friend's face darkened. "Bloody mess, that." As well as the SOE had done in France, their mission in the northern countries had been somewhat of a disaster. The mission had been compromised thoroughly and about fifty Allied agents had been identified and killed as a result. Apparently Leo'd had his suspicions for a long while, but had been told to keep them to himself for political reasons.

"Miss Fairfax?" Janice called, exiting the main office, tea apparently forgotten, "The general is ready to see you now."

Eleanor shot an apologetic look at Leo. "I'd better go," She wanted to speak to him a while longer, learn for herself just what had gone wrong in Holland and how he had been overall, but General Gubbins waited for no man - or woman. "It was good to see you, Leo."

He smiled his bright smile and clasped her to him again for a brief moment. "And you," he said, hands lingering on her shoulders for a moment as he pulled back, "Do be careful, Nightingale."

The operative smiled at his use of the old codename and, with a half-hearted wave of her hand, entered the office.

* * *

Leo had not been exaggerating when he had said that Eleanor had been one of the first. When the Blitz had started and she had been picked up from the hospital, the Special Operations Executive had only existed for a few months. The sole reason she had been chosen to join their ranks the way she had been was because the Chief Director at the time - Frank Nelson - had known her father and was a family friend; in his search for young talent with connections to the continent, her name had been paramount.

During those first few years of trial-and-error, Nelson had relied on her to be his eyes and ears on the ground. Her role then - like that of many of the other early conscripts - had been about developing the organization as much as it had been about actual spy work. Eleanor's experiences in Paris had been largely influential on current operating procedures, for one; assassinations and similar actions had been few after hers turned sour. While there had been plenty of problems and more than enough frustrations, Nelson's determination to create an efficient network had always been unshakeable and he had set to his task with complete selflessness. He wore himself out creating a solid base for his successors.

Another CD had come and gone since then, and now Colin Gubbins - previously the deputy director - had taken over command. A veteran of the first world war with vast experience in commando and clandestine operations, Gubbins had traveled to Scotland around the same time Eleanor had, and they had met in that far off place, a young ingenue and a seasoned soldier. Despite the tremendous differences in age and background, they had established a close working relationship based on mutual respect and affection. Together, they had taken on the challenges of operating within this entirely new way of warfare, and like Frank Nelson he had frequently depended on her insight and listened to what she had to say despite a streak of stubbornness in his own character. Indeed, the only time she had dared go behind his back had been when she and Tommy had pleaded with Churchill for additional supplies for the French maquis.

Unfortunately, that and her transfer to the OSS were some of the last things he had heard from her, and she halfway feared what his reception of her would be like.

"General," she greeted him, saluting the man smartly; it was only when he raised his bristled eyebrows at her that she realized she had given him an American salute rather than a British one. "Sir-I'm sorry," she faltered, blushing, "I hardly know what salute to use anymore-"

To her relief, he smiled at her, not unkindly, and motioned towards the chair in front of his desk. "It's all right, Eleanor. Have a seat."

She sat down obediently, crossing her legs at the ankles before tucking them sideways and placing her hands on her lap as she awaited his next move. As expected, the general leaned back in his seat, observing her through narrowed eyes for a moment. "So," he began, "Out of the fire and back into the frying pan for you, eh?"

"Yes, sir."

"How have the Yanks been treating you?"

_They might have just saved my life and sanity. Their loyalty and companionship is perhaps the one thing that's keeping me going by now. _"Very well, sir."

Gubbins nodded. "No issues with your cover?"

Eleanor hesitated briefly. _I suppose that depends on what you'd qualify as 'problems'. _Objectively, she knew she had let herself slip up more than once: both Lew and Colonel Sink had found out far more than she had intended, and she was fairly certain Ron Speirs had his suspicions as well. Her cover hadn't been perfectly maintained either, and then there was also the fact that she had gone completely off mission in giving Dick Winters a file that contained every intimate detail of her past- but she wasn't about to tell the general that. As far as she was concerned, her cover had been preserved and she risked no danger of discovery or being compromised. She suspected true, old fashioned clandestine work might go straight out the window once the invasion rolled around anyway, so it made little difference in the end.

"None, sir. A few of the officers aside, no one knows about my background."

He scoffed, but not for the reason she initially suspected. "Yes, well, they are damned sure to find out once the invasion begins."

_Wait, he suspects the same? _She frowned. "Sir?"

The general breathed an annoyed sigh. "I'll be frank with you, Eleanor. The only reason I signed off on your transfer is because you needed the time off," he shook his head, "Now I fear I have doomed you to exposure, not to mention doing a single division's dirty work."

_Is he actually insinuating that my current mission is subpar and that he's insulted on my behalf? Well I'll be damned..._

"You are one of our best operatives, Captain. We have a command ready and waiting for you should you want it. I promise you it'll be better than the scutwork the Yanks have you doing."

She was flattered by the offer and the concern from the otherwise austere man, yet she could not imagine leaving the 506th behind now. Not only would it be a betrayal of her commitment to the OSS, she would be abandoning the friends that meant so much to her. That simply wasn't an option.

"If you don't mind, sir," she said quietly, "I'd like to stick with the 101st. They've been good to me, and they haven't the experience any of our boys have. If I can help them at all..."

_Help keep them safe. Help them achieve what they traveled all across the world for. Help look after them._

"I understand, but what of your cover?"

"Sir, the most these men will ever know is that I'm OSS. Should the Germans ever find that out, it'll no doubt annoy them, but it might also throw them off my tail."

There was some sense in that statement: the Germans were looking for an Englishwoman, _la belle Anglaise,_ not an American. She might in fact be safer as a Yank than as a Brit. Gubbins smiled thinly, knowing he had lost the argument. "You always were stubborn." he conceded, a note of fondness to his voice. She returned his smile.

"Yes, sir."

He shifted in his seat, digging up a file from the drawer of his desk and handing it to her. She opened the folder, finding the picture of an agreeable looking lad staring back at her; she raised an eyebrow at her superior officer. _Is this kid even out of school yet? Will I honestly be expected to pretend I'm in love with him?_

"Your SOE liaison," he explained, "Is Lieutenant Archibald Chadwick. Bright young thing, fresh out of training." His lips curled up further. "Already worships the ground you walk upon."

Eleanor huffed out a laugh. "Lovely." _Boy, is he in for a disappointment._

"I'm sure you'll get along splendidly."

"Yes, sir."

"He has been told to meet with you at King's Cross at midday today so that you might travel to your OSS rendezvous together. Any questions?"

She snapped the file shut, eyes meeting the general's. "No, sir. I'm sure we'll manage."

The man stood up, and she rose right along with him, taking the hand he extended to her. "Well, in that case," he said, "Good luck, and God bless."

"Thank you, sir."

* * *

"I hear Berkeley Square is lovely this time of year."

Eleanor glanced up from the newspaper she was purportedly reading, recognizing the man that had come to stand beside her from the picture Gubbins had shown her earlier. The boy looked even younger in person. "I prefer Leicester Square myself." she recited the prerequisite answer, folding up the paper and tucking it underneath her arm. The newbie smiled broadly.

"Captain Fairfax," he said, shaking her hand vigorously, "It's an honor to meet you."

She regarded him skeptically, taking note of his gangly limbs and the remnants of bad skin on his face. "I'm sure," she remarked wryly, "Follow me, please."

"O-of course," he stuttered, loping after her, "You know, we learned all about you- the sabotage work in Vichy?" He threw up his hands. "Astounding."

"Keep your voice down," she warned, scoping out the surroundings warily. _Loose lips sink ships. _The slogans on the posters weren't just propaganda and empty threats.

"Is it really true that you lied your way out of being held at gunpoint at a check point?"

_Christ, does this kid ever shut up?_

"Would I be standing here if it wasn't?"

He didn't even seem to hear her and rambled on. "Using a car battery for your wireless? What about that train station assass-"

Whirling around abruptly, she pushed him into an alley. "Sh!" she hissed at him, "For the love of God, are you out of your mind? You never hear about walls with ears?"

The young lieutenant blushed scarlet, wide eyes blinking rapidly. "Y-yes, ma'am," he stammered, "Sorry, ma'am."

Eleanor sighed and let him go, running a weary hand through her hair. "Paris was a disaster," she intoned, looking at her colleague intently, "That one strike resulted in mass retaliation- or did they forget to mention that to you?"

"No, ma'am."

She turned back towards the main street. God, but he was green. Keeping him alive would be a challenge, and she wasn't sure if it was one she wanted to take on. "War isn't all that it's cracked up to be, lieutenant. Believe me."

"But you're a hero, ma'am."

The statement left her reeling. She had never considered herself one; very far from it, in fact. _I'm just a single person doing my duty in a very large war. Nothing heroic about that. _"I'm sorry to disappoint you, my dear," she said quietly, swallowing to get rid of the sudden dryness in her throat, "But I'm probably the furthest thing you'll find from a hero."

With that, she set off, mind still spinning and paying little heed to the Brit that followed in her wake.

"Poppycock."

"What was that?" she asked vaguely, looking at him over her shoulder as he jogged up to walk beside her.

"Nothing, ma'am."

They spent the next two streets in silence, each left to their own thoughts and contemplations. Suddenly, Chadwick chuckled, smiling when she shot him a quizzical look. "I expected you to sound American, somehow."

She returned his smile. "I can sound anything I like, including French," she stated; she wasn't lying. "How is your accent, by the way?" And just like that, she was back down to business, even if the unexpected - and undeserved, at least in her opinion - praise was still nagging at the back of her mind.

"I'm told I have a touch of the_ orleanais,_ ma'am."

_The French heartland. I suppose we shall have to be a couple on honeymoon or some such, then, although God knows who would want to celebrate their first weeks of married bliss in occupied Normandy._

"C'est vrai?"

He answered her in perfect French, not a trace of an English inflection. _Maybe he'll be some use after all._

"Good enough," she appraised, leading him on towards their destination, "Come on."

* * *

Looking back, it was almost startling how different her meeting with the Americans had been. In a fascinating reverse of common practice, they had been far more formal than the British, insisting on protocol and ceremony, treating her with an almost reverential caution that had been less than comfortable. They had gone over the mission details, recapitulating what she was meant to be doing and how to go about contacting them. It had vexed her just a little when they had started to tell her how she was supposed to deal with the locals, but she had managed to put them back in place with a few icy words. _It's all very well, but don't go pretending you know more about the maquisards than I do._

Her name until D-Day, as it had been revealed, would be Sophie Rossignol. _Sophie, from the Greek sophia, meaning wisdom; rossignol, French, translates as nightingale. Ironically also the last name of a famous family of French cryptographers. _Somehow she did not doubt that Leo'd had something to do with the choosing of that alias. It was certainly a nice touch.

Now, the steady thrum of a C-47's engines reverberating through her body, she felt almost unnaturally calm. Chadwick was a ball of nervous energy by her side, fidgeting and moving about restlessly, but she leaned her head back against the plane and closed her eyes, mind pleasantly blank. Her prayers had been said and her mind made up. No matter what might come after, she felt ready to jump.

"Lieutenant Fairfax?"

She opened her eyes to see the co-pilot popping his head around the cockpit's door. "Yeah?"

"We're approaching the drop zone, ma'am."

Checking her watch, she confirmed that their estimated jump time was indeed nearing and looked out of the window into the pitch black of the night. There were only a few faint scattered lights up ahead, but they were definitely nearing land. She turned to the pilot. "How are we on stealth?"

"Thus far undetected, ma'am."

Eleanor nodded. "Good." Tapping Chadwick on the shoulder, she motioned for him to stand up and hook up. As she shifted her gear, tightening straps and running through a mental checklist, she looked up at the Englishman. He seemed to be grinding his teeth unconsciously. "This is your first jump, right, lieutenant?"

"Yes, ma'am," he responded, a little nervously, "Fourth for you, isn't it?"

"Aye, but no gold stars for me, I'm afraid."

He smiled as she had intended him to. "Sorry to hear that, ma'am."

"Eh, comes with the territory," she shrugged, concluding her own personal assessment and seeing the red light go on next to the open door. "All right, let's do this. Equipment check?"

The lieutenant went over her gear almost shyly, carefully inspecting if everything was in place as she did the same for him. "You're good, ma'am."

"Back at ya." They moved towards the door, the metal of their hooks sliding along the wire, and Eleanor peeked out of the door at the darkened continent below. She could see the outline of a city now, stretching out beneath them, and her hand went up to her throat automatically. Her fingers brushed the soothing silk, memories of beloved faces darting past in the night.

_This is for you. All of you.  
_

She turned back to Chadwick, raising her voice to make herself heard over the roar of the plane. "We're being dropped near Cherbourg as planned. Good luck." The boy nodded tersely, hands curled around the straps of his gear tightly as he looked away, gathering his courage. Eleanor smiled. "Lieutenant?"

His head snapped up just as the green light turned on next to them. "Yes ma'am?"

"Jump the plane and think of England."

* * *

**And so Eleanor goes back into spy mode; we'll see how she'll cope. Apologies both for the delay and shortness of this chapter - crazy busy week - and also in advance for the lack of Easy boys in both this chapter and the next; I promise they'll be back very soon. Thank you as always for reading and reviewing!**


	15. Whispering Grass

**Disclaimer: this story is based chiefly on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.**

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* * *

**

_Swooosh... thud._

Eleanor landed on French soil with a solid smack, wincing as the wind caught hold of her parachute and tried to pull it away from her. She managed to get it under control with a solid tug, moving into a crouching position to gather the yards of camouflage material and roll it up. The bottom of her trousers were wet from where she had landed on the dewy grass; a smile flitted across her face as she was reminded of one of the paratroopers' songs.

_We never land upon our feet, we always hit our ass._

It took her a few minutes to bundle her chute and bind it together with the ropes she had cut lose earlier. Her every sense was on hyper alert, eyes having adjusted to the dark and ears attuned to the tiniest of sounds. The night seemed quiet enough, but first impressions could be deceiving. Once she was certain she would leave no trace of her arrival and she had not been spotted, her parachute safely stowed away, she took a moment to gather her bearings. In the far distance, she could see the outline of the port city of Cherbourg; up ahead the other way were mostly fields and few distinctive landmarks. _Well, shit._

She sighed and bit her lip; she would have to find Chadwick fast and get them to their rendezvous point, lest they be discovered. Sticking her finger into her mouth briefly, she held it out in front of her to get an idea of the wind direction and did a quick calculation. _Assuming the plane held its course - if he jumped approximately thirty seconds after me and the breeze is coming from that-a-way..._ She turned and frowned into the night. _He should be somewhere over there. _Her shoulders squared out of long habit. _Right. Off we go._

Her movements were nimble, stealthy, years of ballet training and field experience paying off even now. Tense moments passed whenever she had to cross a road, hiding away in ditches or pressing herself against trees to make sure all was clear before daring to move. She was huddled behind a hedge when she heard a sudden rustling behind her.

Hand on her weapon in an instant, her whole body tensed in anticipation. "Leicester."

"Square," came the answer, and she let out a breath in relief. Chadwick appeared from the underbrush, looking thoroughly disheveled and more than a little on edge. He managed a strained smile. "Glad to see you safe, ma'am."

"Same," she whispered, taking in his appearance and automatically checking him for signs of injury, "You got your chute?"

He nodded, and she beckoned him along with a quick squeeze of his shoulder and a soft word of encouragement. _Good. He's not off the hook yet, but at least he's remembered the basics. _

After establishing their exact whereabouts by ways of a road sign, they walked for the better part of an hour until they finally neared their final destination. Discerning the sounds of weaponry being readied - guns being cocked made a fairly distinctive noise - Eleanor held up her hand and slowly lowered herself to the ground, vaguely amused when Chadwick dropped down faster than an apple from a tree.

"Qui est là?"

There was no hint of a German accent in the voice and Eleanor smiled in recognition. "Un rêve de l'étranger," she replied, paraphrasing an old song that was the given response to the maquisard question. There was a quiet chuckle and the familiar face of Rémy Gaillard came into sight. Eleanor had worked with the temperamental Frenchman when she had last been in Normandy, though only tangentially; he maintained good relations with the German command around Cherbourg, something that had proven valuable in the past and would no doubt continue to do so in the future.

"Well, well," he grinned, "Alienor, la belle Anglaise."

She shook his hand amiably and wagged a finger at him. "Ah-ah," she corrected him, playful, "It's Sophie Rossignol now."

The Frenchman inclined his head in acceptance. "Mais bien sûr."

"It's good to see you again, my friend," she said sincerely, glad to find that the Germans hadn't figured out his double cross yet. For all his occasional fits of rage, he was a good man and a valuable asset to the resistance. It was also his little cafe they would be staying at for the next couple of months.

"And you," Gaillard replied, his squinty eyes turning to Chadwick, "This is the - how do you say - new boy?"

Eleanor smirked at the unadulterated skepticism in the man's tone. "Yes, he is. Rémy Gaillard, meet Archibald Chadwick."

The two of them exchanged pleasantries, but Chadwick looked decidedly uncomfortable and just a tad nervous - not to mention horrified that she had given his full name rather than the abbreviated form he seemed to prefer. Gaillard only reveled in his squirming. "Bienvenue en France, _rosbif_."

Either the boy didn't recognize the insult or chose to ignore it. "Merci, monsieur."

The maquisard snorted. "Let's get you settled, non?" he asked, addressing Eleanor as he rose to his feet. She was quick to follow, flicking mud off her knees in the process.

"Of course," she gestured in the direction of the city, "Lead the way."

* * *

They spent the rest of that night getting accustomed to their surroundings. As it turned out her suspicions had been correct: the two of them were to pose as a newly wed couple, come to enjoy their honeymoon with her Uncle Rémy. Gaillard, being fond of Eleanor but thus far less than impressed with her supposed husband, fit the role of doting and overprotective relative perfectly. The background stories their agencies had provided were thorough and complex - he a young entrepreneur, she a socialite turned housewife - and though their accents were fairly flawless, she imposed a 'French only' rule the moment they arrived at their temporary home. If they were to be at all believable, they would have to sound as if they had never even left the country.

Gaillard's cafe looked out over a small town square near the harbor, a medium-sized but cozily decorated place with a charming atmosphere and a good reputation. Few of its neighbors knew that a basement was in fact hidden underneath and that the old rug in the common room fireplace hid a trap door leading to it. It was here that Eleanor and Chadwick were to set up their center of operations; the secret space would hold their wireless, decoders, documents and all other materials not meant to be seen by anyone outside of their most closely trusted colleagues. It would also act as a shelter should the worse comes to worst.

Fortunately, most folks in town knew better than to question the sudden appearance of their local barkeeper's niece. Those who weren't entirely convinced by it were soon silenced by her infectious charisma and affectionate behavior towards her 'uncle' as they toured the city; surely no one could fake that kind of attachment, that type of warmth. If only they knew.

There were a handful of the resistance who recognized her for who she was, and their welcomes were warm. They remarked to her that she was in luck; there had been a shift in the German command and the relatively new officers weren't as familiar with the activities of the resistance - including hers - as their predecessors had been. Rumors also abounded about a newly formed paratrooper regiment taking up the defense of the southern part of the peninsula. Updated maps were consulted and intelligence reviewed before strategies were laid out and plans made. Besides night expeditions and reconnaissance, the two operatives would try and weasel their way into the social circles of the German officers and get them talking. It seemed they had become a little more careless now that the Allied focus appeared to have shifted away from France, and the Axis powers had always been eager to show off their toys. If Eleanor and Archie could manage to get a grand tour or two of the area - under the pretension of a mere tourist's interest - they might be able to map out areas none had ever had access to before.

When Rémy got them into the officer's club the next day, Eleanor unpacked the cleavage-baring dress she had been given to wear and Archie ironed his best suit meticulously. She tied his tie for him and he zipped up her dress; they made a handsome couple, young and elegant and eager to please. They swept into the building in a cloud of perfume and cigar smoke and had charmed their way straight into the center of attention, leaning casually against the bar and chatting up whomever was closest. A couple of the elder men did a double take at the sight of the smiling woman, but thankfully couldn't quite place her; she laughed it off smoothly and said that people had mistaken her for some random movie star before. She set her partner at ease with a soothing (but to all other viewers plainly seductive) brush of her hand along his side and a quick peck on his lips before dragging him along to the waiting piano.

The Germans cheered. There was little that a rendition of the beloved _Lili Marleen_ couldn't cure and she hopped onto the grand piano supply, making sure she arranged her legs in such a way that just the barest hint of stocking was revealed when Archie sat down behind the instrument. Hers wasn't the greatest of voices, but it would have to do, and the enemy officers certainly didn't seem to mind so long as there was a pretty face to go along with a favorite song. Seduction was an art she had become frightfully good at when she needed to be; she knew just how to draw in a man, to flatter and tease without fully giving in. It was a skill that was endlessly useful as an operative, but also one that left her feeling sick to the stomach, now more so than ever.

Dick Winters' hurt countenance flashed before her eyes, her throat suddenly feeling dry, but she suppressed the memory quickly and called for some wine with a flutter of mascara-coated eyelashes._ Anyone can feel base passions. It's what makes the world go round, and so we use it- this was never about love. _She sipped the fine vintage daintily, her lips still feeling a little strange after the unscripted kiss. _But then when did this become about love to begin with?_

Putting down her glass, she motioned at Archie - who would have thought they could be such a well-matched and entertaining pair - and tapped her fingers along to the opening notes of the melody for a moment before joining in. "Vor der Kaserne, vor dem grossen Tor..." Her German had a suitably French inflection to it and it wasn't long ere she had the full group of less than sober soldiers bellowing along with her. One song followed the other. _Ich Bin Die Fesche Lola, _full of innuendo and flirtatious looks. _Ich Tanze Mit Dir In Den Himmel Hinein, _with plenty of sentiment. Alcohol flowed freely. Hitler was saluted at every opportunity. Eleanor and Archie made a point of joining in, repeating well-rehearsed lines of passionate discourse in support of the Führer. Arms were draped around them and their praises sung. Before the evening was out, they had an invitation to the next gathering.

It was not until the early hours of the morning that they stumbled home, giggling as if they were actually drunk, not straightening out until they had made it back to their room. Gone was the pretense, the brave faces vanished; Eleanor stripped out of her revealing garment and scrubbed the make up off her face quicker and more rigorously than Chadwick had ever thought possible. He watched her with sad eyes from his side of the bed, still trying to reconcile himself with the events of that evening.

"Don't you ever get tired of it?" he whispered, pulling off his socks, "Doesn't it make you feel dirty?"

"Non," she answered decisively, shooting him a look that said _stick to French or so help me_, "We do what we must." The truth was that she was more tired of it than she could ever properly express, but the thought of serving the greater good - of serving the men and women she had sworn to protect - just about kept her going. _Just about, and we can't have him getting discouraged already at that. _She slid into the bed, pulling the covers over herself and curling into a ball beneath them, biting her lip when she felt the bed dip as he sat down on the other end with a sigh. _Poor kid. It can't have been easy.  
_

"Hey," she murmured, barely audible, rolling over to touch his shoulder lightly, "You did well today."

She could tell he was smiling even in the darkness. "Thank you, ma'am."

* * *

And so they settled into somewhat of a routine, the days passing by languidly. The duo were quick to exploit their reputation of being a diverting couple to have around, garnering invites left right and center and obliging as many as they could. She would sing and he would play, smiling like an indulgent husband when she danced and flirted with the enemy as if he weren't even there. Within less than a couple of weeks she was warding off wandering hands that attempted to squeeze her buttocks - faking outrage all the while continuing to trifle and toy shamelessly - and Archie was having after dinner drinks with the gentlemen on a regular basis. The Germans liked them, trusted them, allowed them into their inner circles. Things went rather exactly as planned, and the newlyweds' ostensible plans of staying for only a fortnight were extended indefinitely.

Whenever they weren't being wined and dined, they would tour the countryside, sometimes in the company of their German friends, sometimes by themselves, paying careful attention to the landscape and the enemy positions so that they might map them out later. Between their manifold social appointments and the frequent nighttime missions, the two of them got little sleep, but they kept each other going, looking after each other as partners would. Successes were celebrated in quiet; losses and problems were borne in silence, but at least were shared between them. _A burden shared is a burden halved. _They worked well together and Eleanor gained a gradual if somewhat grudging respect for her colleague; he was a good lad, really, and he wasn't half as blundering as she had feared he would be. It wasn't exactly his fault they had been forced to pose as a couple either, and the whole situation could definitely have been a lot worse all in all.

By the end of the first month, they had already mapped several drop zones and had located safe houses along with a large number of the German batteries. Every once in a while, the maquisards would bring in coded messages and they would decipher them, fitting in the information with the rest of what they knew before passing it on to London through their own ciphers. On rare occasions one of the enemy officers would slip up and reveal more than they had intended. More and more it became apparent that the defenses around the peninsula were inadequate and weakened; it seemed Leo Marks' deception and scheming was working and the Germans were focusing their attention northwards.

But things changed in mid-May. Someone - Eleanor rather suspected it had been the paratroopers' CO, a well-educated and well-connected veteran - had noticed how neglected the fortifications of Normandy had become, and new defenses were being built up on the double. It frightened the two operatives; had their messages to England been intercepted? Had they been betrayed? Just how much did the enemy know?

The two of them discussed their options in their basement, weighing the alternatives and considering their next move. _Something _was up, that much was clear, but to their relief the Germans' behavior towards them didn't seem to have changed. There had to be a leak somewhere, but from what they could tell, it wasn't their team. For now at least their mission was secure. Far be it from them to sit idly by, however; obstacles against airborne assaults were being created in the specific drop zones assigned to the 82nd, meaning they would be jumping straight into a deadfall. The division had been training with those specific areas in mind for some time now, and to reassign them would mean a lot of hassle; it wouldn't do to raise the alarm over nothing, but there was little else they could do than warn command. The German presence had become so much heavier that the plans would have to be changed. If nothing else, the 101st would need their support and vice versa because of the increase in enemy defenses.

They radioed home and received a line of poetry to acknowledge their message in return, as was the custom. The next few days were stressful; the lack of rest was catching up with them, and both of them were on edge, unsure what the future would bring. If they had been discovered, they would be as good as dead, and the entire invasion in jeopardy. A lot hung in the balance.

But they were welcomed with the same warmth as usual, breathed a sigh of relief and carried on as they had before. They would have to remain careful for a while, but they were all right. They had lived to see another day.

That evening found Eleanor pouring over maps and intel in the hideout by the light of a gas lamp, attempting to figure out how all of these changes would further impact the operation. Her brow furrowed in concentration, she chewed on a pencil thoughtfully, trying to make sense of it all. She decided she would have to see if she could get closer to Von Der Heydte, the Fallschirmjäger commander, and attempt to coax something out of him. It was risky, she knew, but if it would help at all...

The trapdoor opened and she looked up briefly to see Chadwick sliding through, balancing a mug of coffee. She nodded at him curtly before returning to her work, barely paying attention to him as he sat down opposite her and sipped his beverage.

"You know," he mused, "For an occupied country, they sure make good coffee."

A vague hum was the only response he got out of her, and the young lieutenant took a moment to observe his colleague. She had lost weight and looked tired, much as he imagined he himself did, and yet she had the harder job of it; she had to appear desirable every other evening, to be bonny and blithe as the old saying went. How she managed to pull it off, he did not know. For all that he had gotten to know her better, might even call himself her friend these days, she remained somewhat larger than life in his eyes. He had seen the way she was able to wrap those officers around her little finger, how she manipulated them into spilling their secrets with flattery and beguiling smiles. More than once she had saved his life when he had been about to make a rookie mistake, she cracked codes faster than any other field operative he had seen, and for all that she pushed herself, she never once complained, never once let herself slip. It was impressive, and he knew he was lucky to have her as his partner.

At the same time, however, he knew she was only human and could see that all the long hours were taking its toll. She would get a little distant sometimes, her eyes taking on a bit of that infamous thousand yard stare, and she suffered from nightmares regularly enough that she had asked him to smother any noise she might make if necessary. On the extremely rare occasions that she would talk about home, she would wistfully recall the American troopers she had been stationed with rather than any part of England. He had found it odd at first, but if the stories were true and she really had been in such bad shape before joining the Yanks, they must have done her some good and he supposed they deserved the credit.

He shrugged. Home was a fluid concept anyway.

"Today went well, ma'am," he said gently, trying to put her at ease somewhat; things could have easily taken a turn for the disastrous, but it had all worked out in the end. Surely they could stand to relax a little for a while. "You should get some rest."

Eleanor raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. _Bless him, I know he's trying to look out for me, but the work never stops. _Her fingers clenched around the pencil. _This damn war never stops._

"That song earlier," the kid went on, "The one we danced to. Who sang it?"

"Edith Piaf."

Another gulp of coffee and his empty cup was placed on the table. "Really? What's she so upset about?"

"Her lover left her, but she still sees his face everywhere," she answered without thinking, marking two additional spots on her map before it even really registered what he had asked. She frowned. "You're fluent in French."

"I am," he nodded, admitting that he honestly hadn't needed her to translate, "I just wanted to hear you say it."

_What the hell is he playing at? _She straightened, annoyed, flipping the pencil between her fingers and scrutinizing him through narrowed eyes. "Why on earth would you want that?"

His smile was surprisingly soft and uncannily knowing. "Because it seems to me, lieutenant, that you have left someone behind too."

The Englishman left as quietly as he had come in, leaving her to stare at the flickering light of the lamp in dazed contemplation, lost in her own thoughts. _She still sees his face everywhere. _Memories of what had been such a happy time haunted her as much as those long years as a spy. No matter what the outcome of the war, she would never be rid of them - of what had been, of what could have been. She would never be rid of him. _I'd just like to know you're safe. It wasn't exactly what I was expecting, but it's captivating. A little piece of land, somewhere in Pennsylvania._

She pressed her palms against her stinging eyes and breathed out shakily.

_Ellie... I would never betray you._

* * *

Spring passed into summer; May turned into June. After lengthy deliberation, Allied command in all their wisdom had decided to change the original plans and the 82nd's drop zone had been moved up closer to the 101st's just as the operatives had intended. _Thank God for that. _D-Day was drawing ever nearer and it seemed as if the very air was thick with a sense of heady anticipation. They had moved further south and had settled in a shelter near Sainte-Mère-Église to await the action. All they could do now was stay put, monitor the German movement and keep an eye out for the agreed upon signal.

It was late in the evening on the 5th of June, 1944, when the cue finally came. Eleanor and Archie had been bent close to their wireless, listening to BBC ramble on about various matters, until a single line of poetry caught their attention.

"Bercent mon couer d'une langueur monotone."

_Soothe my heart with monotonous languor. Fitting, really._

Across from her, Archie looked up at Eleanor with wide eyes. "That's it, isn't it? It's really happening."

She nodded slowly, inhaling deeply. After over four years of war, the great Allied push was finally here. "Alea iacta est," she breathed, the story of Caesar crossing the Rubicon coming back to her from an old classroom of many years ago. _We've done it now. Our move._

Chadwick nodded. "Game on."

"Yeah," she murmured, managing a smile. _Time to go to work_. "Come on."

They woke Rémy and headed out; they had a long walk ahead and little time to spare. It would take them almost two hours to get to the 101st's dropzone near Hiesville, and that estimate was based on the premise that they would meet little resistance, which of course was less than certain. Archie's final destination at Sword Beach was even further way, too, and the first pathfinders were due around midnight already. In other words, the clock was ticking.

When they neared Les Forges, Chadwick was glancing about nervously, glancing at his watch intermittently. "We got the poem right, didn't we?" he asked Eleanor anxiously, but she remained unresponsive and strode ahead resolutely, quiet, terse; of course they had gotten it right. There was no doubt in her mind about that.

Archie turned to their French liaison. "It's definitely happening today?"

"Don't look at me, new boy," the maquisard scoffed, still using the diminutive even after two months of working with the Englishman, "I host. You decipher."

"But you're sure we're headed in the right direction?"

"Nom de dieu!" Gaillard hissed, exasperated, "_Yes,_ this is the right direction."

Just then, Eleanor beckoned them to a halt. They had reached the edges of the dropzone she had been assigned to; this was where their paths would separate. "Rémy, can you show Archie the way from here?"

Her 'uncle' smiled in reassurance. "Mais bien sûr, _lieutenant_," he shot a withering look at the other operative, "I know my area, after all."

Eleanor smiled faintly at them in return, hoping the two of them wouldn't kill each other before the Germans even had the chance. "I know you do." She shook their hands, thanking them both, pretending she didn't care she might not ever see them again, wasn't worried about their well-being. _Best not to dwell on it. Keep calm and carry on, old girl. Chin up, and all that. _"Be safe, both of you."

Chadwick held on to her hand a moment longer than strictly necessary, squeezing it, nodding solemnly. "Yes ma'am."

She bit the inside of her cheek, fondness mixing with sorrow inside of her at the sight of his earnest expression. _God, he still thinks the world of me, even after all this time.  
_

"You too."

Two little words and they were gone, darting off into the darkness. She watched them go, straining her eyes until she was certain she couldn't see them any longer. _Breathe in. Breathe out. _

Her hand automatically sought out the small piece of silky comfort at her throat.

_Here we go, boys and girls._

_

* * *

_

**I can't believe it's been over a week since I've last updated - so sorry about that! It's been an absolutely mental few days. Once I get all of my work over and done with (which shall be soon) and D-Day kicks off (which shall be in the next chapter) there should be more regular, less rushed and generally longer chapters forthcoming. Thank you for reading and reviewing!**

**A special thanks to the lovely Harlequin Sequins, who has been an amazing sounding board and great help. If you're not reading her story **_**Of Fire And Ice **_**already, you should, it's fantastic!**

**P.S.: Yes, the Piaf bit is totally a reference to Saving Private Ryan. :)**


	16. Day Of Days

**Disclaimer: this story is based chiefly on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.**

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"Flash!"

Eleanor, clad in dark civilian clothing, satchel of personal belongings slung around one shoulder and gun holster around the other, turned around slowly at the sound of the challenge, smile forming of its own accord. It was half past midnight on June 6th and D-Day, it seemed, had just kicked off; she had heard the faint sounds of the C-47s roaring overhead and the even quieter swooshes of the first American soldiers landing on French soil. The adrenaline was already kicking in, rushing through her system like quicksilver, and she felt more alive than she had since leaving Aldbourne.

"Thunder," she replied calmly, crouching closer to the source of the voice and recognizing the 506th's pathfinders as they appeared from the dark, "Hey, fellas."

Though they had mostly trained at a separate RAF base, Eleanor had made a point of getting to know at least a few of the scouts assigned to the drop zone most of the 506th would be landing on. None of them would have any idea why she was there, but the assurance that she was American and on their side would hopefully go some way in aiding her collaboration with them. In a worst case scenario, it might just keep them from shooting her.

"Lieutenant Fairfax?" one of them asked, frowning into the night, hand firmly on his weapon. She empathized with their plight; out of all the things they had been trained to expect in Normandy, female nurses wasn't particularly one of them. "What the hell are you doing here?"

She shifted slightly, a beam of moonlight catching on the gleam of her gun. The men recoiled visibly. "Don't worry, I'm here to help you," she assured them quickly, "Consider me your welcoming committee."

"But how-"

She glanced at her watch. Half an hour left until the main combat jumps would be taking place; they would have to move fast. "Long story," she answered curtly, hoping it would do for now. Doing a quick headcount, she realized only a dozen or so paratroopers had gathered around her; there were supposed to be two full teams of pathfinders to make a grand total of thirty. Obviously a few were missing. "How many of you are there?"

"Sixteen, ma'am."

"Just the one team?" she asked, perturbed, scanning the faces and noticing the two men she had gotten to know the best weren't there. "Where's Wright and Fenstermaker?"

A moment of silence passed, as if they didn't know or were hesitant to tell her. Finally, one of them cleared their throats awkwardly and explained. "Their plane went down over the Channel, ma'am."

_Aw, hell. The main assault hasn't even started yet and t__hings are going wrong already__. _She chewed her lip, considering her next move. Their goals hadn't changed - they would still have to set up the ground beacons and marking lights, or the pilots would be hard pressed to figure out where to drop their sticks. Glancing up, she saw the clouds and mentally amended that statement. _Never mind having a hard time, they simply won't know. Okay. Improvise..._

"Equipment?"

"Two BUPS and one Eureka, ma'am."

Well, that was something, at least. The pair of BUPS beacons were intended to provide a central orientation point for all of the aircraft radars and were therefore vital; the Eureka ground beacon would be used to further communicate with the aircrews. Without either of those instruments, the situation would quickly turn FUBAR before any of the assault planes had even arrived. Yet Eleanor knew the men were meant to be carrying more than just those two pieces.

"No marker lights?" she pressed, wincing when they shook their heads.

"No ma'am. They were in that ditched plane."

Just to make her life a little more difficult, there were even more issues to report. "The beacons are pretty banged up too."

She exhaled forcefully. "Oh, that's just _peachy_," she observed sarcastically, shaking her head in weary annoyance. Why couldn't anything ever go to plan? The boys were quiet, watching her apprehensively, and she smiled at them faintly. It's not like it was their fault, and wasting time on being angry wouldn't do. "Right then, show me what you got."

More looks of shock and incomprehension. "Why-"

"Like I said," she grinned, beckoning the men carrying the equipment over, "It's a long story."

She set to work on fixing the bust beacons, hidden away under a few raincoats so she could use a flashlight to see what she was doing. Though both machines were fairly mangled, she managed to make some progress with the help of a couple of the pathfinders. Those who weren't assisting her had been put on guard duty in a perimeter around their position.

"Sh!" one of them suddenly hissed, and her hands froze in place, hovering over the beacon, "Can you hear that?" She could. There was no mistaking the low hum of airplane engines, and given that they had been hearing anti aircraft fire for some time now, it was no more than a logical conclusion that the planes were nearing.

"Are those Skytrains?"

Eleanor ducked out from underneath her cover. "Probably," she remarked dryly, unintentionally smearing grease across her cheek as she attempted to swipe a wayward strand of hair out of her face, "How are we on time?"

"0100, ma'am."

"Shit," she murmured, checking her own wrist to confirm it before bobbing down beneath the coat again. The first combat jumps were imminent and neither of the BUPS were working; they would need the Eureka at the very least. "Come on, come on..." she chanted, fiddling with loose ends and running through possible solutions in her mind, praying fervently she would get the damn thing to work. Finally, something clicked into place and the machine came alive; she fought down the urge to crow in triumph.

"Gotcha!" she declared quietly instead, flicking off the flashlights and jumping back into action, motioning at a nearby trooper. "You, get it set up to transmit."

Thankfully, they had stopped questioning why she was there and how in the hell she knew how to work with radars and radios; it seemed they had decided to just go with it. It was not like they had an awful lot of choice. "Yes ma'am."

"Are the handheld signals in position?" They were swift to validate the statement, but Eleanor knew it might not be enough. One measly beacon and some small lights were hardly ideal conditions for navigation. Thinking quickly, she began to rummage through her bag, glancing up to address the men. "Get me anything that shines. Mirrors, ration tins, anything."

Even if they had accepted her presence and proficiency, this just seemed too odd of a request to ignore. "Ma'am, due respect," one of the men said tentatively, "But what the hell are you doing?"

"Improvising," she said, infinitely glad to find the little pocket mirror they had found in their basement hideout and Archie had insisted she bring with her, "We've got to mark the DZ somehow." Flashing a light at it experimentally, she was gratified to see the polished surface reflect it back. As far as signals went, it was elementary to be sure, but it would have to do. One of the men caught hold of her arm.

"Won't the Krauts see us, ma'am?"

She huffed out a laugh. "Private, there's a whole invasion force headed this way," she told him, amused, "I think it's pretty safe to say the Germans will spot us sooner than later."

"I can't believe it's finally here," another mused, "The day of days."

"Yeah, well," she replied, testing other glossy objects the soldiers brought her, "Just pray to whomever you pray to that we make it through." _Let's not get sentimental. There'll be plenty of time for that later. _She tossed a second flashlight at the inattentive trooper. "Get me those tins."

* * *

Though the Eureka beacon was operational and Eleanor's knack for adaptation had gotten them a few makeshift markers, the agent could tell the jump wasn't going exactly as planned. Even from a distance she had been able to tell the planes had come under some heavy antiaircraft fire in the lead up to the drop and the persistent clouds only worsened the situation. By the time the jumps had begun in earnest, the sky had been ablaze with tracer rounds and fire; more than a few planes had been hit and she was certain a number of them had gone down, too.

The thought of _what if the boys were in one of those sticks_ was never far from her mind, but she found that she could function so long as she kept going. The adrenaline was intense and unlike anything she had felt in a long while; indeed, the only time she had frozen up was at the first sight of a casualty, but it had only been momentarily and she had snapped back into action within seconds. If she was to make it through the night and find whomever of her friends survived, she could not allow herself to become paralyzed, and so she scurried around amongst the landing troops, helping the men out wherever she could and instantly relieved whenever she saw a familiar face. Most were first battalion and some seemed to recognize her, though she moved too quickly for them to question her presence. It was probably better that way.

She was cutting one particularly tangled up trooper free from his straps when she heard a well-known voice call out to her. "That you, Lieutenant Fairfax?"

Cutting the last of the ropes and giving the unfortunate soldier a hand up, she saluted the regimental CO with a smile right alongside the enlisted man. "Colonel Sink, sir. Welcome to France."

The colonel returned the salute, readjusting his rifle as he did so. It was almost strange to see the superior officer carrying a weapon; she had only ever seen him around the regimental headquarters, and mostly behind a desk at that. "Thank you," he answered, appearing unruffled and utterly in control as he ought to be, "You wouldn't happen to have come across my XO, would you?"

She shook her head. "Sorry, sir, I haven't. It seems not all of the planes were able to find the DZ." _Spectacular understatement, but I imagine he will have figured that one out by now. _Sure enough, Sink looked around before raising an eyebrow at her.

"You don't say."

"We had some issues with the beacons, sir," she explained, flinching in sympathy as a trooper landed next to them with a harsh thud and a choked _oomph_, "One of the planes went down."

"You mean my entire regiment might be spread all over the goddamn Cotentin, lieutenant?"

_More or less, yes. _"As far as I know, they might be, sir."

Machine gun fire rattled nearby, the men already defending the edges of the drop zone from German advances. The CO glanced around again; for the usually still man, it was practically fidgeting. "Well then, I'd better get going and assemble my people, don't I?"

She smiled. "Yes, sir."

The colonel was about to set off but hesitated just long enough to acknowledge the operative attached to his unit. "Anything you need from me, Eleanor?"

"Not particularly, sir," she said, jogging to catch up with him. Much as she wanted to stay around the dropzone and find her friends from second battalion, she had her orders. "I'm meant to be finding General Taylor."

"You and me both." Sink replied, never once slowing down to accommodate her; he expected her to keep up, and she expected nothing less in return. "Come on."

The two of them began the trek to the town of Hiesville - the designated division command post - together. Along the way it became increasingly clear just how scattered the drops had been; the regiment had always prided itself on being able to assemble and regroup quickly during their exercises, but it was proving to be perhaps one of the biggest challenges of that early morning. After a couple of hours they were only able to gather around forty men of the regimental headquarters plus another fifty or so from first battalion under Lieutenant Colonel Turner. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't much at all, and the whole of 2nd and 3rd battalion seemed to be misplaced entirely. To say it was a bloody mess would have been a gross euphemism.

For Eleanor, the most cumbersome issue was that General Taylor wasn't anywhere to be found. While parts of the general's HQ battalion from the 501st had found their way to Hiesville, a lot of them had not, the CO himself included, and no one appeared to have any clue as to where he might be either. It left her in limbo; she was meant to brief him and then await his further orders, but now that she was unable to do so she was stuck trying to figure out a way of finding him - not to mention her unit.

_It shouldn't surprise me, really, _she mused, glancing up at the off-white farmhouse that was to serve as the division headquarters, _it was a lot to just assume we would just run in to each other. For all I know he might be dead. _Not being in the very centre of things felt strange; she had grown used to being in control, to having a good overview of what was going on. Right then and there, she was but a small part of a large, chaotic whole, and she wasn't sure she liked it. She certainly didn't appreciate being ordered to remain outside while the men talked.

Colonel Sink came walking out of the building, Turner in tow, and beckoned her over. "We're headed to Culoville to set up our CP," he told her, wasting no time on pleasantries, "I suggest you come with us until we figure out what to do with you."

_Christ, he's making it sound like I'm a POW. _In all fairness, she _was_ a burden, aimless as she was. Dragging a woman - even a supposed nurse - through a warzone raised questions they didn't have time for and created the risk of distracting the men; yet while their annoyance might be understandable, it did not mean Eleanor liked being treated so dismissively any better. She nodded grimly and hid her disgruntlement. "Yes sir."

* * *

Culoville, with its six houses and a single church, was even smaller than Hiesville had been and the capture of it in the early hours of the morning was deceptively simple. Although the establishment of the regimental base was a decent step forward, the lack of communication with two of the three battalions was beginning to take its toll. One of the 506th's most critical missions had been to secure the southern exits of Utah beach, but without Strayer's second battalion and the sheer lack of numbers under Sink's direct command, it would be an impossible task, and so other options were being considered. For a while, Eleanor watched her male colleagues debate the matter, consistently disagreeing and squabbling over minor details, but her levels of irritation were already heightened and she couldn't stand to wait around in silence while they completely disregarded the obvious choice.

"Gentleman, _please_!" she calledeventually , finally fed up with their protracted discussion. All eyes in the room turned towards her at her sudden and somewhat insolent interruption, but she held her ground, unable to keep herself from blushing but remaining otherwise composed. She walked over to the table they had congregated around and pulled the map closer towards her. "All due respect, but Pouppeville is the obvious choice," she said firmly, pointing it out, "It's smaller, more easily accessible and about a mile and a half away from exit two. We take the town, we take the exit."

Silence stretched on for a long moment and Eleanor feared she had let her temper get the best of her and had gone too far. She would have to adjust to situations like this if she were to function at all in the male-dominated world of the Allied invasion; junior officers who did not know her record in particular might be hard-pressed to accept her presence, but she would have to work with them somehow.

Then, to her relief, there was a twinkle of amusement in the colonel's eyes and he not only agreed with her but asked if she might want to tag along. She almost laughed in disbelief. _Does he even need to ask? _Sitting still like this was making her restless and would soon drive her to insanity; she dealt with war best when she was on the move and didn't have the time to stop and reminiscence. More than anything, she just wanted to make herself useful, and so she readily agreed to accompany Colonel Turner to Pouppeville.

The road to the coastal town was harder to get through than anticipated. Small skirmishes delayed the 506th's expeditionary force in their advance; evidently the Germans had realized its strategic importance and weren't about to let it fall into enemy hands. Eleanor, still in civilian garb, remained to the back of the group to deal with the wounded. It kept her occupied and was beneficial to the unit, but some small part of her missed the thrill of leading men in combat and was looking forward to resuming her duties as the division's special liaisons officer.

Sometimes, the effects of adrenaline frightened her.

Once they arrived in Pouppevillle - hours later than intended - it was barely surprising to find the town had already been taken by the 501st and that the 4th Division was rolling in from the causeway. _Seems like we did all right after all, _Eleanor thought, feeling an inexplicable surge of pride at the sight of the tanks driving past, _I wonder how the other beaches are faring..._

She was so taken by the mighty display of Allied force that Turner almost had to drag her away, relating happily that he had found General Taylor. He took her to the house that held the temporary command post and, after approaching one of Taylor's aides, was allowed to show her in.

"Sir, you remember Lieutenant Fairfax."

Maxwell Taylor, an amiable fellow and talented officer, turned to greet her with a smile and heartfelt handshake after she dropped her salute. "Of course, our resident spook," he said, leading her over to the rest of the gathered officers, "How the hell are you, lieutenant?"

She returned his smile. He had always been kind to her, even when others had had their doubts, and though his ceaseless fervor and the belief that his boys were rooting for a fight was a little grating at times, he was a good man. "I'm well, sir," she replied, gaze automatically flicking towards the maps and other papers spread out on what had once been a dinner table, "You're a hard man to find."

"So I've heard," the general said wryly, noticing that she was already eying the plans, "What have you got for me?"

Launching into her briefing, she recounted all that she had learned over the past months, setting out enemy positions, natural obstacles and the statuses of the local maquis pockets alongside any and all other details that might be relevant. Every little piece of information might come in use at some point or the other and she wasn't about to leave anything out; how could she, when lives could depend on it?

Towards the end of the thorough report, Taylor was nodding his head in approval. "Excellent work, lieutenant."

"Thank you, sir."

The CO regarded her for a few seconds, thoughtful. "Am I correct in thinking you are stuck here until your unit arrives?"

Given that Turner was about to head back to the 506th and her girls would probably be coming in through Pouppeville, she supposed she was. "Yes, sir," she answered, "They should be in soon."

"And until then?"

She shrugged. "Awaiting your orders, sir."

"Good!" Taylor exclaimed, clapping her on the back, "I want you to stick close and act as my runner for the time being. I'm sure the locals would prefer a friendly face over a Yankee general, for one."

Eleanor lowered her eyes and smiled, remembering Rémy Gaillard and his suspicion of anyone foreign. Of course not all of the maquisards were as bad as he was, but the French weren't exactly known for their affability towards strangers either. "I'm sure that's not true, sir."

"Nonsense," the general said jovially, "There's a reason we brought you here, kiddo."

Looking around the room, seeing the intelligence officers scurrying about to process the information she had given him, she supposed there was.

* * *

She spent the rest of the afternoon around the interim headquarters, working with the staff and liaising with the resistance. The airborne divisions were still badly dispersed across the peninsula and the division's main radio had been lost during the resupply mission, but at least the arrival of the 4th Infantry had helped in reestablishing communications a bit. Things were looking up.

It was nearing twilight when one of the orderlies poked his head around the door of her temporary office. "Ma'am?"

Her head snapped up - being the only woman in the crowd had its advantages. She would always know when someone was addressing her. "Yeah?"

"Your unit's here."

A smile slowly spread across her face, growing into a grin so broad it almost hurt. "Thank God," she breathed, endlessly grateful that they had made it to the continent safely. She turned to the general. "Sir, may I-"

Taylor was already smiling in reassurance. "Go ahead," he said, a hint of fondness in his voice, "Godspeed, lieutenant."

She saluted him smartly. "Thank you, sir."

Grabbing her gear and strapping it around her shoulders briskly, she all but ran outside, barely able to suppress her eagerness to see her girls again. Her eyes darted around the streets filled with American men and material until she spotted her primary team standing around a couple of trucks, helping the entire unit unload. She jogged over to them. "Took you long enough, ladies."

"Lieutenant!" Anne exclaimed, eyes widening in delight. Within seconds, the entire group was looking her way, all broad smiles and happy disbelief. "Eleanor!" Betty grinned, wrapping her up in her arms, "You made it."

"Yeah, I did," she laughed, returning the embrace before being pulled into another, sheer joy at being reunited thrumming through her body; a few hugs and handshakes later, she was looking around her friends, quietly scrutinizing them. "How is everyone? Did you make it through okay?"

Gale rolled her eyes affectionately at her CO's obvious concern. "We're fine, ma'am."

Sara nodded in agreement. "The beach was secure when we got there."

_They're okay. They're really okay- wait. _Eleanor suddenly noticed Nancy's downturned expression and looked at her imploringly. The young nurse smiled sadly. "We weren't even allowed off the truck to help the wounded soldiers."

Eleanor bit her lip, realizing how hard it must have been for the girls to be unable to help like that. "I'm sorry."

Nancy, to her credit, pulled herself together. "How are you, ma'am?" At Eleanor's side, Maria poked her in the ribs experimentally. "You're thinner than I remember."

The CO raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Living in an occupied country for a couple of months will do that to a person."

"But you're all right?" Evelyn persisted, "How did the mission go?"

"Unexpectedly well."

"Have you heard from the boys yet?"

_If only I had. _Concern resurged within her; she still had no idea how 2nd battalion was doing and who they'd lost. "Not yet, no," she sighed, "But we're to head back to the regimental CP. With any luck, they'll have made it there by now." _Then again, maybe they haven't, but a girl can hope._

Katie, watching the rest of the nursing unit mill about in the distance, frowned a bit. Eleanor's chosen team had been taking care of the rest of the platoon ever since she had departed for France and by the look of things had done a good job; it would be difficult for them to leave them behind now, although they had known it was coming all along. "What about the others?"

"Don't worry," Eleanor soothed, rubbing Katie's arm but looking at the entire group, "The 326th is setting up shop here. They'll be safe."

The girls nodded in quiet assent, finding some small amount of comfort in her words. Betty, moving over to one of the vehicles, grabbed a bag and dug up a clean nurse's uniform. She held it out to Eleanor with a small smile. "Ma'am."

Taking the olive drab ensemble with something akin to reverence, Eleanor's lips quirked up faintly. A lot remained uncertain, but standing amongst her team - her friends - and holding on to a little piece of her identity, it felt like she had finally come home again after a long absence.

* * *

Hours later, when evening had fallen and Eleanor and her girls had returned to Culoville to rejoin the rest of the 506th, there was still no word from second battalion. The women had helped finalize the aid station and simultaneously set up their own little area of work in one of the back rooms, getting their wireless sets running and their precious enigma cipher machines ready to decrypt. Eleanor had seen to it they were split into shifts; at any given time, some of them would be looking after the wounded troopers, others processing intelligence and a few taking their turn to rest. All of them were awake and alert when the word came in that the wayward battalion had finally rejoined their regiment.

Eleanor smiled indulgently at the silent ripple of anticipation that went through the group. "Settle down, girls," she reprimanded them gently, even though she was longing to go and find her friends just as much as they were, "Back to work. You'll see them soon enough."

Putting down the documents she had been reading, she clapped her hands and brought them all to attention. "Katie, Anne, grab the supplies and see if the surgeons need a hand. Evelyn, Nancy, Gale, get the walking wounded out of here and make some space for the incoming boys - Betty, you're on triage with me. Let's go."

As she had expected, the new arrivals brought a whole slew of new wounded with them and things descended into the organized chaos she so thrived on. Within minutes, she was diagnosing those coming in and sending them through to who ever was available, working alongside the medics and surgeons as if she never done anything else. Betty was by her side throughout, anticipating her every need, jumping in head first into the deep end of the proverbial pool. All of the girls had done incredibly well so far; even when all they'd had to do was take care of soldiers who were waiting to be transferred, they had still dealt with some pretty gruesome situations and hadn't batted an eye.

Noting that Betty was getting a little breathless and flustered, Eleanor caught her eye as they were working on a shrapnel hit. "You all right?"

"I'm-" Betty hesitated, cheeks flushed, "I don't know."

Eleanor smiled; she recognized that look. Strangely, it wasn't fear or hesitation. "Excited?"

Her friend frowned. "Is that wrong?"

"It's good," the CO encouraged, familiar with the buzz of such situations; there would be time to deal with the aftermath later. For now, Betty was doing great and should continue do so. "Keep going."

* * *

While on triage, Eleanor had invariably checked every new patient to see if it was someone she was particularly close to. There had been plenty of well-known faces, but thankfully none of her dearest friends had shown up thus far. The earlier rush settled down, she wandered amongst the beds set up in the small town church, examining wounds and helping out where necessary, when someone called out her name.

"Lieutenant Fairfax?"

She whirled around - she knew that voice.

"Popeye?"

Pressing himself up on his arms, Popeye Wynn was looking at her from where was lying on his belly. A quick once over revealed he had taken a wound to the butt, of all places. "Ma'am, is that you?"

"Yeah," she smiled, eyes crinkling as she ambled over and squeezed his shoulder, "What happened to you?"

The diminutive man pulled a face. "I fu-" he broke off as if he only then registered who he was talking to, "Messed up, ma'am." He jerked a thumb towards his back. "They got me in the ass."

"Oh my," she remarked, suppressing a chuckle; though the wound was serious enough that he would be returning to England to recover, he seemed too lucid to have been given a lot of morphine. He would be sore for a long while, but he would be fine. "Well," she said, inspecting the bandages, "The dressings look good. You waiting to be evacuated?"

"Yes ma'am."

She nodded, having suspected as much. "Okay. They should be here soon."

Popeye seemed unsettled for some reason. "You think this'll get me a ticket home, ma'am?" He fidgeted with the edge of the folded up blanket that doubled as his pillow, "I really don't want to leave the fellas behind."

Eleanor was touched. It didn't really shock her - she knew the Easy boys were close - but it was heartwarming to hear him say it nonetheless. "I doubt it'll get you further than England, Pop, don't worry," she reassured him, "Just make sure you heal up in time for the next jump, huh?"

The private smiled, encouraged. "Yes ma'am."

"All right." With a final pat on his shoulder, she set off to continue her rounds and was halfway to the next bed when his voice called her back.

"Lieutenant?"

"Yeah?"

"'s Good to see you, ma'am."

The operative returned his smile warmly, giving him a little salute. "You too."

* * *

It was past midnight and Eleanor was still up, helping offload a newly arrived batch of supplies. The adrenaline had worn off entirely by now and she was starting to feel the sheer amount of hours she had been awake, covering a yawn with her hand when she heard voices approaching.

"Hey, Malark! Ain't that Lieutenant Fairfax over there?" _Ah. Always thought Joe Toye was too tough to die._

"Nah, can't be. They wouldn't let the nurses this close to the front this soon." Eleanor smiled; obviously these boys hadn't been anywhere near the aid station recently.

"What about all that vanguard bullshit, though?"

"An' that's definitely a dame. ODs don't hide curves like that." She was tempted to reveal herself at that and give Guarnere a hard time over his cheeky comment, but remained focused on her checklist of provisions instead. _Let's just get this over with so I can talk to them. _

"Look, Joe, I'm sure-"

Eleanor noticed one of the soldiers helping her take a crate the entirely wrong way and was forced to correct him. "No, no, right over there, private."

Somewhere behind her, Toye made a triumphant sound. "Told ya!" She turned around to greet the boys, clutching her clipboard close and smiling.

"Hi there, fellas."

"Ey, lieutenant!" Toye drawled, pulling her close and pecking her cheek affectionately, gruff features softening at the sight of her, "Christ, am I glad to see you."

Bill was quick to bat him away. "Almost didn't recognize ya there, Ellie," he remarked, opening his arms, "C'mere." She smiled and obliged him gladly, mentally ticking three names of a list of people to fret over. Words could not express just how much of a solace it was to see them safe and unharmed; God only knew what the next few days would bring, but for now, at least, they were all right.

"Yeah, whatcha doin' with a utility belt?" Joe wondered out loud, frowning down at her waist. It wasn't common practice for nurses to wear them, but it was something she could explain easily enough.

"Well, as it turns out, they're pretty useful to carry things around on," she observed drily, smiling when Toye huffed out a laugh and Guarnere chuckled in that peculiar _heh-heh _way of his. She turned to the only silent member of their little group. "Hey, Don."

"Elle," he returned, embracing her a little tentatively, "Didn't expect to see you this soon."

Eleanor shrugged. "We go where we're most needed." Tapping her pencil against the wood of the clipboard, a thought suddenly struck her. "Hey, where've you been, anyway? Didn't you get in a while ago?"

"Around," Toye dismissed vaguely, "Haven't been here long."

Malarkey was nodding almost eagerly. "We already saw some action, you know."

_Go figure. _"Taught the sorry bastards a lesson?"

"Damn right we did," Bill confirmed, and there was a somewhat dangerous glint in his eyes that troubled her a little. "Found ourselves a Kraut map, too!" he continued, and _that_ had her curiosity piqued enough that she forgot about the issue for the time being. She'd have to talk to him later.

"Did you now?" she commented, eyebrows shooting up, "Lieutenant Nixon must've been thrilled."

"Oh yeah," Malarkey enthused, "Him and Winters-" he shook his head, "Sorry, _Lieutenant_ Winters, were walking over to headquarters with it earlier." He looked around his friends and grinned. "I think we did good."

_Oh, you did more than good, especially for your first day, _she thought, but there was something off about his statement. "Wait, Winters?" she queried, silently glad they had unintentionally let her know that both Winters and Nixon were still alive, "What happened to Meehan?"

The mood shifted in an instant. "You ain't heard yet?" Toye asked, frowning, and she shook her head.

"Communications haven't exactly been dynamite, Joe."

Guarnere grunted. "They think his plane's gone down," he winced, "Bad business, if you ask me."

Eleanor felt a stab of grief; a crashed plane or even a suspicion of it was as good as a death sentence. She took a brief moment to remember Meehan: kind, good-looking and capable Tom who would have made a fantastic field commander had he been given the chance. Somewhere, she knew, his wife would soon be in mourning for her heroic husband.

"So the lieutenant's in charge for now," Malarkey was saying, and she blinked rapidly a few times to regain her focus.

"Dear lord," she sighed once she had, her previous worries for her friends' well being resurfacing, "Any further casualties that you know of?"

"Popeye Wynn got hit in the ass."

She smiled a little at that. "Yeah, I saw him earlier."

Malarkey's eyes were wide and endearing in their innocence. "He's going to be all right?"

"Full recovery guaranteed," she consoled, rubbing his arm, "Don't you boys worry."

The redhead nodded and dug his arm into Toye's side unexpectedly. "Joe here almost got hit twice in one assault, the big goof."

And just like that, the banter and levity was back, all of them glad to be alive and together. Joe shoved back instantly. "Hey, at least I didn't try and get myself a goddamn Luger under fire!"

_He did what? _She didn't have the time to ask.

"Wasn't even a Luger neither, you stupid Mick." Guarnere added, and Malarkey looked suitably embarrassed about the whole thing.

"Yeah, yeah, enough about that already..."

Eleanor, seeing a few of the officers headed towards headquarters, glanced at her watch and was alarmed to notice the time. "Listen, fellas, I should be talking to regiment-"

"Aw, Ellie, why you gotta go and break our hearts, huh?"

"It's the officers, Bill," Toye teased, "She just likes 'em more."

"That's rubbish and you know it."

All three of the men were grinning at her indignation, but something drew Malarkey's attention away from her. "Speaking of the officers-" he noted, waving at someone behind her, "Hey, Buck!"

She turned to see a lieutenant she wasn't acquainted with headed towards them, build like an outhouse but not coming across at threatening at all. As he came closer, she could see that his hair and eyes were very pale in the light of the moon and that his all American features were handsome in their distinction.

"Bill, Joe," he greeted, "Malark. Who is this lovely lady?"

_Oh, honey, I'm sure that works on all of your cheerleader friends, but really..._

"Meet Ellie Fairfax," Guarnere said, slinging an arm around her shoulders, "She's our nurse. Aren't you, doll?"

The nurse in question chuckled at his possessive tone. "Technically, I'm assigned to the entire regiment."

"Like I was sayin'," Guarnere reaffirmed, smirking down at her, "_Our_ nurse."

Shaking her head fondly, she reached out a hand towards the new officer. "It's a pleasure, lieutenant-"

His large hand enveloped hers; his grip was strong. "Lynn Compton, ma'am, but call me Buck." He smiled at her amiably. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Oh dear," she said, shooting a look at her friends, "Just how worried should I be?"

"Not at all, ma'am."

"Buck here joined us at Upottery." Malarkey explained, and she could tell the private was already attached to him. Don was friendly with most of the fellas, but Compton must be a man worth knowing if the men had taken to him so quickly.

"Gosh, I'm sorry you had to end up with this lot."

Compton grinned slyly. "They're not all bad, ma'am."

She decided she liked him right then and there. "Please, it's Eleanor or Ellie. God knows these rascals get away with it."

"Ellie it is then."

"I really should go," she said regretfully, smiling in apology, "You boys keep out of trouble, all right?"

"Yes ma'am," they chorused as she walked away, and she thanked whatever deity might be out there that they had made it through.

* * *

It wasn't until the early hours of D-Day plus one that Eleanor managed to settle down and get some much needed rest. She had been awake and on her feet for over twenty-four hours by then and while it was not something she was particularly unaccustomed to, she was dog-tired nonetheless. Having established that the majority of her friends - including Harry Welsh - were alive and kicking, she found herself a relatively quiet and remote room of the church-cum-hospital after her debriefing with Sink and curled up on an empty stretcher, pulling a thin army issue blanket over herself and closing her eyes. She would search them out tomorrow. For now, she just needed to rest. The ability to sleep anywhere was one she had acquired long ago; the fact that the wool was scratchy and there was nothing but her own arm to rest her head on bothered her little.

Despite her exhaustion she was a light sleeper, alert even in slumber. When gentle fingers stroked along her cheek, tucking a lock of stray hair behind her ear before moving to adjust the blanket, she stirred with a faint sigh. "Hm," she murmured, shifting and blinking sleepily until a familiar face came into focus, "Dick?"

Kneeling by her side, Dick Winters smiled tenderly, hand stilling on her shoulder. "Hey, Ellie."

"What are you doing here?" she asked, wavering a little as she sat up and pulled the cover around her shoulders to stave off the sudden chill that came with waking up. Her heartbeat sped up at the sight of him. She had already known he was alive and unhurt, of course, but to see him here before her made her all but breathless with relief. The urge to throw herself into his arms and never let go again was almost irrepressible. He looked as tired as she felt, all at once older and younger somehow; older because he seemed so weary, younger because there was something to the look in his eyes that made him seem somewhat lost.

"I couldn't sleep," he said quietly, hovering in front of her a little awkwardly, as hesitant about his next move as she was about hers, "The men said I could find you here."

She smiled at that, scooting over so that he could sit besides her. "They did, huh?"

"I may have to explain the meaning of 'impudence' to them," he explained wryly, carefully maneuvering himself alongside her. The distance between them, though smaller than it had been in months, remained palpable. His eyes sought out hers. "How have you been, Ellie?"

_How could I ever explain what I've done and seen over the span of weeks? _Toying distractedly with a loose thread, she shrugged, forcing nonchalance. "Fine. Nothing I haven't done before." She regretted the flippant comment the moment she noticed him flinch at the harshness of it. _Way to alienate him further. _"I'm sorry."

He shook his head, face unreadable. "No, don't be," he breathed, "I suppose I'll have to get used to it."

Uncomfortable moments of silence stretched out between them, neither of them looking at the other, lost in their own thoughts. Eleanor wondered what - if anything - he felt for her now; it was obvious that he still cared enough to check on her, but his behavior was distant and stilted compared to what it had been before her revelation at Aldbourne. Guilt lingered, but so did a desperate affection and attachment, and it left her torn.

She cleared her throat. "What about you?" she ventured, recalling what Guarnere and the rest of the boys had told her earlier, "I heard you're in charge of Easy now."

"Until Lieutenant Meehan shows up, yes."

Her heart ached. As fond as she had been of Tom Meehan, the chances of his survival were slim even from what little she had heard. "Dick," she said, haltingly, "You don't know if-" She broke off abruptly when she realized he was wringing his hands in his lap - and that they were trembling. Something had clearly shaken him and, knowing his strength of character, it was likely that it had been more than the mere sight of war.

Placing a tentative hand on his thigh, she raised her eyes to him. "Are you all right?

"Yeah," he said, a little hoarsely, attempting a smile; when he saw that she didn't buy it one bit, he diverted his gaze again. "I lost a man today."

Five simple words had her chest tightening in fear and compassion. It was nearly impossible to keep herself from reaching out to hold him. "Who?"

"A Private Hall. He, uh-" his voice faded for a moment, "He was Able Company. Radioman."

Eleanor searched her memory for his face; the name sounded familiar. "I remember him," she said at length, "Smallish, dark hair?" He nodded mutely. Her fingers brushed the fabric of his trousers lightly in an oddly consoling gesture. "What happened?"

"Grenade at Brecourt," he replied numbly, the same wooden quality in his voice as she had recognized in her own all too often. It broke her heart to hear it, but there was something else about the statement that had her surprised.

"You took out those guns?"

He frowned. "How did you-" Sighing, he interrupted the question before he even finished it. "Never mind."

_Back to Hall, then. _"What was he doing with Easy?"

"He was the first person I ran into after I jumped," the new CO explained, shoulders slumping uncharacteristically. It was so slight that anyone who did not know him like she did would barely have noticed, but it spoke volumes to her. Her hand moved to rest against his instinctively and his pained eyes met hers. "He was so young, Ellie."

_Oh, darling. My brave, kind-hearted sweetheart. _ "I'm sorry, Dick."

"Yeah. Me too." The two of them had moved closer to each other without truly noticing, taking comfort in having the other near regardless of their issues. For a long while, they just sat like that in silence, until she could not suppress a yawn and he smiled at her in vague amusement. "I should let you sleep."

She chuckled softly, seeing the sense in that. "Probably," she bumped her shoulder against his warmly, hope rekindling in her heart; maybe not all was lost. "You don't look too awake yourself either."

They rose to their feet in unison, still very close together. Smiling up at him, she was glad to notice that though some of the weariness lingered and the faint, haunted echo remained in his eyes, he seemed a little better, a little more steady now. It was foolish to think he would remain unchanged throughout the war, especially when it had affected herself so much, but it at least she might be able to return the favor of keeping him sane and moderately happy. "Sink showed me that map you found earlier."

Winters ducked his head. "You think it'll help?"

"There's at least half a dozen guns on there we didn't know about. It'll do a good deal more than help."

"Thank you," he said, so faintly she almost missed it, gratitude shining in his eyes. She nodded in acknowledgement.

"As... harsh at it sounds," she began, attempting to find the right words, "One of the best pieces of advise I've ever received was to think of it in numbers. You lose on person, you save another, maybe two. You lose a dozen, you save twice as many, and so on."

He pressed his lips together, doubtful. "Doesn't make it any easier."

"I know," she soothed, "But you can't lose sight of the bigger picture." Overwhelmed by love, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, eyes closing briefly when she felt him smile.

"Sleep well," he said quietly, turning away slowly, almost hesitant. She sat back down onto the makeshift cot, about to lay herself down again when she heard his voice from the doorway. "Ellie?"

"Hm?"

"I never read that file."

And just like that, all her hopes were dashed again, replaced by doubts and apprehension. She watched him go, too stunned to move. _He hasn't read the file. _But why hadn't he? Had he given up on her completely and decided the effort wasn't worth it? Was he too disgusted by what little she had told him to want to know more? If he was, then why had he sought her out?

Pulling her knees up to her chest forlornly, she closed her eyes and tried to sleep. Rest didn't come to her nearly as fast as it had before.

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**Not going to lie, it's a relief to get this monster of a chapter out of the way! Hope you've enjoyed it - thanks for reading and do leave a review. :)**


	17. Pistol Packin' Mama

**Disclaimer: this story is based chiefly on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.**

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* * *

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_She was standing by the side of a road - a long, winding road, the end of which she could not see. Looking down, she noticed her feet were bare and, wriggling her toes, the damp dark earth moved around them. Leaves of red and gold fell softly around her, soundlessly; beyond the tall trees they descended from, there were fields of green, stretching on to the horizon as if they were oceans of grass. The place was wholly foreign to her and yet she knew, instinctively, in her heart, that this was Pennsylvania. Lancaster County, to be precise._

_Hoofbeats clacked steadily on the blacktop lane and drew nearer. A horse-drawn carriage, simple in shape, was approaching. She could not make out the features of the dark-clad driver, their countenance shifting, changing, like something you see out of the corner of your eye that isn't quite there but bothers you nonetheless. It should have disconcerted her, but it did not. Whatever was coming was inevitable, and somehow, that was all right._

_The cart drew to a halt before her, the black animal in front of it stomping its foot and snorting impatiently. Its driver held out a pale hand, the bony digits beckoning her silently, and for a moment all she could do was stare in awe. She reached out, slowly, fingers almost connecting with the gloomy stranger, a chill spreading from him and towards her, and she remembered, wonderingly, a line of poetry from long ago: because I could not stop for Death, he kindly stopped for me..._

_Suddenly, unexpectedly, another hand wrapped around hers and warmth flooded her senses. She looked up, startled, at the handsome face of Dick Winters, his hair as fiery as the canopy above, tragedy written in his eyes even as he smiled at her and pressed his lips to her knuckles. It was impossible to move; she watched, helplessly, as he slipped away and took her place, climbing into the carriage besides the reaper, cheeks losing what little color they had and limbs growing very still. She wanted to scream, to shout, to beg for him to come back and stay with her, but the coach was moving, rolling further and further away from her, and there was nothing she could do about it-_

Eleanor startled awake with a gasp and his name on her lips, heart racing a million miles an hour and brow beaded with cold sweat. Nightmares, though a regular occurrence, would never cease to terrify her. Old memories blended with newer ones to form a potent mixture of fear and apprehension, and recently, a lot of them had revolved around the men of Easy Company - particularly its acting commanding officer.

Things were still not right between them; what few times she had seen him had been awkward, brief, both of them seemingly treading on eggshells, unspoken thoughts and feelings pushing them apart. She missed their conversations, the way his thumb would stroke along her knuckles when he held her hand, the feelings of _home_ and _safe_ and _warmth _she would forever associate with him. Most of all, she just missed having him near, and while she worried for all of her friends, it was his features in particular that continued to haunt her dreams.

Breathing out slowly, she rubbed a trembling hand across her eyes, forcing herself to calm. _It was a dream. Just a dream. _She leaned on the frame of her commandeered bed and glanced at her watch; D-Day plus four, just after five in the morning. The sun had barely risen, and the world outside of the nurses' billet was strangely silent. _I suppose the Germans do not feel like retaking Saint Come today._

A cold breeze swept through the room and she shivered as its icy tendrils reached her and stirred her hair. Flinching, she swept a stray lock out of her face; her braid had come undone over the course of the night, it seemed, and she loosened it further so she could redo it. Her hair had grown greasy and dirt-streaked in the days since the invasion had begun and keeping it braided back was more than ever a necessity. Between the amount of effort that went into them and the impossibility to wear them with a helmet, the rolls that were so popular amongst many of her fellow women were not a luxury she could afford.

Tying off the locks, she rose and went in search of food, checking in on the girls currently off duty and asleep in the room next doors before heading outside. The men were spread across the town square, leaning against buildings and each other, more than a few snoring rather loudly. She sidestepped them all with a smile. Rest was a rarity these days and whatever few hours they could find to sleep were a welcome reprieve. On the upside, the expedition seemed to be going well and progress was being made; right at the very eye of the storm as she was, she was in touch with all levels of the army, from generals to privates. It offered her a unique insight and outlook on the goings on of the Allied advance.

Yet for all her knowledge, no one was able to truly predict what would happen, especially not now. The apprehension and dread was the worst part of it all; Death lingered everywhere, besetting her every move and clinging to her like a persistent shadow. It was in itself not something she feared - not for herself, not anymore - but she was terrified of what it might do to her friends. Losing them was more painful than her own demise could ever be, and so she was determined to fight the reaper off and away from those she loved for as long as she could.

She spent her hours couriering messages, translating cyphers and treating the wounded, working as an operative when the men were on the front, slipping past and among them like a ghost, and looking after them when they were not. It was exhaustive and taxing but provided her with too many moments where she was able to stop and think. They were dangerous, those moments; she functioned best when preoccupied and on the move, unable to contemplate and descend into the dark depths of her own mind. Intelligence work was a necessity and kept her mostly engaged, but she had always found there was nothing quite like direct combat to ease her into that comfortable numbness that inevitably kicked in. It had gotten to the point where she even longed for the rush of it on occasion, strange as that might be. Sure, she was able to cope well enough and do her job at that - which, in the end, was all that really mattered - but it only went so far in alleviating the nightmares and twitchiness, the constant worry and concern.

Shaking her head, quietly disturbed by her own thoughts, she passed by a sleepy looking Chuck Grant and exchanged weary smiles with him. While the chaos of the early days had lessened somewhat and the regiment was now able to move as a more cohesive whole, many men were still spread across the peninsula away from their companies. It had confused the enemy and had thus been an unforeseen strength, but like so many, Grant had only recently rejoined Easy as a result. Every time another member - another friend - returned to join their ranks was a relief and a comfort. Eleanor remembered well how Harry Welsh had embraced her fiercely when he had found her the morning after that day of days, holding on for long moments before poking her in the ribs and cracking a joke about her field uniform. Even then, his hands had remained on her shoulders as if to reassure himself that she was really there - and she was a supposed noncombatant, someone outside the direct line of fire. It went some way in showing how trying the times were and how close the two of them had gotten.

Skipping past Martinez and nudging a grumbling Bill Kiehn, she moseyed into the temporary aid station, greeting Doc Ryan from third battalion as she passed through to the back room that held her hub. There was a particular sequence of knocks to go through, one that she would have to change again that day to prevent it from being discovered, and an answering call that meant _come in. _An excessive measure of precaution amongst their own men, perhaps, but explaining to the boys why their division's intelligence outpost squat-bang in the middle of their field hospital was something she didn't really look forward to. She pondered how long she would be able to keep her work a secret; the largest threat of discovery had passed now that the invasion was in full swing, and it was almost inevitable that at least a few of them would find out sooner or later. _How to tell them, _she mused, _and how the hell will they react?_

Receiving the all clear from inside the hub, she pushed through the entrance, seeing Betty Edwards hunched over the wireless intently. She only looked up when Eleanor closed the door to keep the low hum of the transmitter from escaping outside.

"Any movement?" the first lieutenant asked her second, squeezing her shoulder briefly. From what she understood, the 502nd was meant to be moving on Carentan within the next few hours; the crucial town should by all accounts be quite heavily defended. Still, there had been a lot of shifts in the German positions and the situation might have changed. It was hard to keep up sometimes.

Betty shook her head. "No ma'am," she said, glancing over at the two other girls in the room, "We got a few ultras in, but nothing too urgent."

_It's quiet, _Eleanor thought, lips quirking up slightly when she recalled an old John Wayne film, _too quiet. _In truth, it was; rifling through the documents, it occurred to her that this might be the cliched calm before the storm. A few cyphered messages with no particularly vital information was certainly less than expected in the lead up to a major operation. Sighing in silent concern, she stretched her back until her spine cracked and glanced at her watch again. There was little under an hour to go until the change of shifts; Betty, Grace and Anne would soon be rotating to the medical stretch of the day despite having already been up for hours working on intel. She smiled at her girls affectionately, proud of their stamina and dedication.

"How about we get you some coffee, huh?"

* * *

Incoming casualties were never a quiet affair: there was the inevitable panic, both from the wounded man and his friends, the urgent orders of the doctors and medics, the all too often empty reassurances of _hang on_ and _you're going to be all right. _Maintaining a level of calm was therefore something Eleanor valued; projecting it onto the others even more so. There were few who had mastered the art and even fewer who had it come to them naturally - one of those was Gene Roe, with his soothing voice and gentle hands - but every little bit of tranquility helped in situations like these.

Yet there was always that pesky, unsettling little spike of anxiety when someone had recently been brought in, the dread that it was one of her friends. Walking over to where Grace and Anne were examining a new arrival, she was careful to keep her cool, glancing briefly at the soldier's face to see if she knew him. _Dog Company. Private. Rifleman by the looks of him. No idea what his name is, and God forgive me for feeling relieved. _"What've we got here?"

Grace looked up at her, brows furrowed in concentration as she stepped aside slightly so her CO could help with the triage. "Shrapnel to the stomach."

The older nurse looked for a morphine marker in vain. Not knowing how much of the stuff he'd had could be dangerous. "Why doesn't he have a tag?"

"Lieutenant Speirs brought him straight in," Anne informed her, catching her eyes over the soldier's prone body and inclining her head towards the motionless figure standing a little off to the side. Ron Speirs, though a capable officer, was quickly making a reputation for himself; rumors about his own NCOs getting shot and German prisoners getting massacred abounded, and yet no one had actually seen those events for themselves. He was an enigma, and an unpredictable one at that. For her part, Eleanor had never been quite sure what to make of the man, but there was something cold and detached in those brown eyes that unsettled her. It could be a coping mechanism; it could be plain psychopathy. She didn't know, and for a woman who prided herself on being able to read people, that was perhaps the most disconcerting of all.

Inspecting the private's wound carefully, she came to the conclusion that while it hadn't hit any major organs or arteries - a miracle if ever she saw one - it wasn't a treat 'em and street 'em kind of scrape either. Getting the metal out would be a delicate process. "Grace, get a surgeon," she ordered softly, knowing Anne was preoccupied with keeping the wounded man calm. It seemed odd to her that Speirs would have brought him in himself away rather than staying with his platoon. She turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "That true?"

He shrugged, almost infuriatingly nonchalant. "No medics were available."

_Still doesn't explain why he left the rest of the company. _Eleanor narrowed her eyes at him briefly, sizing him up, but could discern no untruth. It bugged her how hard it was to get a grasp on him. "Well, at least you weren't stupid enough to try and remove the shrapnel."

The lieutenant continued to stare at her, unblinking. "You need me for anything else?"

There was blood everywhere and she was forced to focus on the private rather than the officer. Her apprehension could wait. "We're good," she said curtly, "Go back to your platoon."

She barely noticed him moving away, her back to him, too intent on getting the bleeding to stop and her patient stabilized. _Where's the damn surgeon? _There was only so little she could do without an extra pair of hands - only so little she was _allowed_ to do as a mere nurse. Across from her, Anne suddenly froze. "Ma'am..."

"Yeah, hold on," she grunted, trying to get an idea of just how deep the shrapnel was, "Get me that sponge, I can't see a thing-"

"Ma'am!" the other nurse repeated, more insistent this time, and Eleanor followed her gaze to see Speirs limping - yes, definitely limping - towards the exit, blood staining his trousers. Her eyes widened. _Well then. There's the reason he brought his man in himself._ "Jesus," she muttered, infinitely grateful to see Doc Ryan running towards them, "Annie, doc, you got this?"

They quickly confirmed that they did and she jogged after Speirs, catching up with him in a few long strides. "You could have mentioned you got hit."

He barely so much as glanced at her. "I'm fine." Rolling her eyes in exasperation, she poked him in the leg without reserve or remorse, utterly unimpressed when he yelped and attempted to leap away from her.

"You call that fine?" she asked him, taking his arm and dragging him right back into the treatment area, "Next time, you holler for a medic just like everyone else."

"Didn't think it was necessary."

"What were you going to do, operate on your own rear end?" She shook her head. Stubborn bastard. "Drop your trousers and lie down."

"If you insist," he leered, but it lacked genuine salaciousness. _He's trying to play me,_ she realized, _he's trying to get me to react. _She wondered how much of his behavior was a carefully planned act aimed to let others see exactly what he wanted them to. _Interesting. _"Nice try," she commented, cleaning her hands, "I know you're married."

To her surprise, he lay down without too much of a fuss, but his comeback was sharp and more than a little biting. He obviously didn't like her pushing back. "So's Nixon. Doesn't seem to bother you too much."

His assumption that she was involved with Lew pissed her off, and while she rationally knew that he was baiting her, she couldn't help but scowl down at him. "I don't like what you're insinuating there, lieutenant."

There was an unanticipated flash of anger in his dark eyes. "Then mind your own business."

_Oh, hit a nerve, did I? _"Christ, are you always this cranky or do you just save it for harried nurses and drunk NCOs?"

He shot her a withering look, but she wasn't afraid of him; still a little discomfited, sure, but she didn't quake in her boots like so many did before him. Their mutual inability to give in made for an ongoing battle as it had in previous encounters. "I do if they carry around non-standard issue weapons in their utility belt."

_Clever man for noticing it_. Brief panic surged within her - how on earth would he react, especially given he had already witnessed first-hand that she wasn't exactly unfamiliar with guns? -but then she realized it didn't matter. He had nothing on her. The worst he could do was report her for possession of a non-regulation weapon, and it would make little difference; the superior officers all knew about her work, from the battalion staff right up to regiment and division. She shrugged, regaining her composure, as uncaring in her mannerisms as he had been before as she began her inspection of his wound. "Girl's gotta be able to defend herself."

"Because the hundreds of paratroopers-"

Getting fed up with his questioning and general attitude, she prodded his wound a little more forcefully than was strictly necessary. It was harsh, but it succeeded in shutting him up. "Ow!"

"Listen, Sparky," she snapped, well and truly exasperated; it was one thing that he tried to create this persona in front of the men, but she wasn't about to fall for it and she didn't like his jabs at her own walls either, no matter how ineffective. It was time she made herself clear once and for all and established some ground rules. "I'm not one of your noncoms who's disobeying orders. I have a damn good reason to be here," she said, digging the bullet out and leaving the _and to carry a gun_ unspoken, "A reason that's way beyond your pay grade. All you've got to know is that I'm on your side."

He looked at her then, _truly_ looked at her, scrutinizing her every move until he was satisfied she wasn't lying. Something clicked - recognition, respect, she didn't know, but he inclined his head and agreed to a ceasefire. It was surprising, but she'd take it. "All right."

"Right. In which case I suggest you back off and we both-"

At that very moment, Betty came rushing over. "Ma'am, we've casualties coming in."

Eleanor frowned. As far as she was aware, the 506th wasn't involved in any major action at the moment. Judging by the way Betty sounded, there were quite a few men expected in and at least a few of those seriously hurt. "Where on earth from?"

"Spillover from the 502nd," her right-hand woman said grimly, authenticating Eleanor's earlier concerns, "They got the hell beat out of them on the Carentan causeway."

_Too quiet._ _I knew it. _Eleanor bit her lip. "Okay. Grace, Evelyn, Betty- clear those beds. All of you men, grab the supplies." The room exploded into a flurry of motion. "You!" she called out towards a random medic, beckoning him over and motioning towards Speirs, "Get him bandaged up and ready to evacuate."

"I'm not leaving," Speirs tried, but she had more or less won this round already.

"You just about fainted from blood loss only a few minutes ago," she pointed out, referring to the way he had wavered and limped as he had tried to escape before, "I think you are."

* * *

Death came in waves. It was always around, yes, but it ebbed and flowed like a river, granting brief reprieves and moments of relative quiet. Hours after the rush of the 502nd overflow, Eleanor found herself wandering around the town square, checking in on the men while the other girls were having lunch. Keeping busy was a hell of a lot better than being idle and she took comfort in chatting to the men. She spotted a group of them sitting nearby and, smiling, decided to drop by. "Boys."

"Hey, lieutenant!" Skip Muck drawled, face lighting up to see her there and nudging his friends to alert them to her presence. They were inseparable, this mortar crew, and Eleanor could have sworn Skip and Malarkey in particular were joined at the hip. As usual between action, they sat and chatted lazily, bumming cigarettes off each other and discussing life at large. At that very moment, they appeared to be playing cards. It was entirely endearing in all its convivial simplicity.

"How are things at the aid station?" Penkala asked as she settled down besides them, folding up her legs.

"Finally settling down a little. The 502nd got hit pretty bad."

Malarkey, ever perceptive, caught on to what she hadn't said and frowned. "Weren't they moving towards the next town?"

She nodded. "Carentan, yes."

"Any idea as to where we'll be heading next, ma'am?" More asked, looking at her steadily. Although none of them had any idea what her true job on the front was, they knew that she was close to the officers and generally well informed. It was undeniable that she knew more than most of the enlisted men when it came to planned offenses.

"Best guess? The same direction," she noted frankly, "It's an important position to hold for both sides."

It obviously wasn't the news they had been hoping for, even if it wasn't entirely unanticipated. Muck sighed. "Great."

By his side, More was glowering and made a sound of undisguised disgust. "We just got here."

"Speak for yourself, we took this town yesterday!"

Eleanor smiled at them in understanding - the constant moving was expected, but it did not make it any easier to have to leave the comparative comfort of a captured town behind. "Such is warfare, fellas."

"This coming from a nurse."

She let the insult slide, knowing it sounded a lot ruder than More had intended, but it seemed Skip wasn't about to. "Hey, lay off, Alton," he reprimanded his friend cheerfully, "Don't underestimate our girl here. She's a whole lot smarter than she lets on, y'know."

"Yeah, remember when she did up Skip's gear for him back in Aldbourne?" Penkala chimed in, looking around the group. Malarkey burst out laughing and Muck wrinkled his nose as if in disdain.

"Jesus, Penk, that just makes it sound dirty."

Penkala tossed a spoon at him in response, grinning. "You wish!" Even More's bout of bad temper seemed to be lifting as he too smiled. "I wonder what Faye would say?"

Malarkey, meanwhile, was more interested in the incident Penkala had recalled and turned to Eleanor to ask her about it. "How _did_ you know how to do that?"

The nurse smiled arcanely. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she remarked breezily, leaning over to have a look at his cards. She reached out and reshuffled them, laying a few down and rearranging others, and it proved enough of a distraction for them to drop the subject of her unexplained knowledge of jump gear.

"And so the student becomes the teacher, huh, ma'am?" Malarkey chuckled; after all, he had 'taught' her how to play cards while they had been in England.

"Hey, I learned from the best," she winked, rising back onto her feet, "I'll see you boys later."

"Later, LT!"

The rest of the day passed as expected; Eleanor gave her daily briefing to General Taylor and discussed intelligence matters with the regimental headquarters staff in preparation for the division's move on Carentan, Harry Welsh brought her dinner as she sat with the wounded, and she talked through the events of the day with Betty not long after. As far as war went, it was nearly a routine, and the next day started out much the same. She was doing rounds again, prowling the outer edges of the encampment, when a voice called her name. "Lieutenant Fairfax!"

Swiveling on the spot, she saw Shifty Powers and Floyd Talbert walking up to her. They had both not been around before - they must have only just found the company and Eleanor, smiling, ticked another two names off her mental list of MIA men. "Shifty! Tab!" she exclaimed, moving to greet them, "Took you long enough, fellas."

"Boy, am I glad to see you, ma'am," Shifty said, blushing when she kissed his dimpled cheek. Tab was nowhere near as bashful about it and embraced her happily; behind him, she could see that Smokey Gordon had made it back as well. _Another name down._

"Good to see you too," she responded, hand still on Smokey's shoulder, "Where've you been all this time?"

"We've been fighting with the 502nd since we landed, ma'am," Tab explained, shifting his gear on his shoulder. She blinked, surprised; only yesterday that very regiment had been beaten back from Carentan, and yet somehow these three had only now made it to Saint Come Du Mont. Her question was soon answered by Gordon.

"Left them 'bout two days ago to find Easy."

_Ah. That accounts for it. _"Well, you're in luck," she said, "The 502nd took heavy casualties after you left them, and Easy's right over there waiting for orders."

"And here you are, the cherry on the sundae!" Talbert said smoothly, making as if to move his arm around her shoulders; one significant look from her had him bringing it right back down. She hadn't forgotten about Nancy's heartbreak yet.

"Guess good things really do come in threes, huh ma'am?" Gordon grinned, amused by the blow to his friend's ego. Eleanor shook her head fondly.

"Oh, stop it, the both of you," she chastised without heat, smiling at Shifty, "Let's find your platoons." It was only when they began to move towards the main part of town that she noticed another private following in their wake, pale and noiseless. "You all right there, Blithe?"

"I'm okay, lieutenant," he said softly, though the faraway look in his too-big eyes told her otherwise, "I think I'm all right."

_Classic thousand yard stare. Poor thing. _She nodded slowly, making a mental note to alert Welsh of the situation. "Come on, then."

Once she had seen to it that the boys had found the others and had admired their looted trophies indulgently, she was on the move again, finishing her walk along the perimeter. Easy would be heading out soon along with the rest of the 506th to help secure Carentan once and for all; the intelligence on the amount of expected German resistance remained sketchy at best, but they could no longer afford to delay in regaining the crucial town. In a way, this lonely patrol of hers was a method of preparation and goodbye. She could talk to the men and assure herself that they were all right and ready, while also mentally composing herself for her own part in the action. Taylor wanted her to act as a courier between the different regiments to make sure communications could be maintained despite radio silence. The general had conveniently left out how she was supposed to get around the medium sized down while it was under attack.

Drawing nearer to a field encircled by a wooden fence, she spotted Pat Christenson leaning against the enclosure, sketchbook in hand. Besides being a good dancer, he was a wonderful artist and seeing him in the middle of a sketch piqued her interest. "Whatcha drawing, Pat?" she asked, waving a little as he looked up to see her ambling over.

"Hey, lieutenant," he greeted her, pointing; following his gaze, she could see Martin and Randleman admiring a sturdy horse with an impossibly white coat. "Been meaning to draw him since we came into town."

Hearing their conversation, Martin joined them at the fence. "He's a beauty, isn't he, lieutenant?" Nodding in agreement, she ducked under the enclosure and carefully moved towards the animal where Bull was petting it. The large man was characteristically gentle with the gelding; for all his imposing stature, he was an altogether friendly presence.

"Didn't spook or nothin', even with the MG fire," he remarked as Eleanor appeared at his side. She recalled long years of riding lessons, of her parents bringing her to the stables and watching her ride around the paddock on docile ponies. Once, before her father had died and her mother had moved them back to England, she'd had her own palfrey. Reaching out and stroking the snow white head came almost instinctively.

"Sh," she cooed, letting the animal sniff her hand and get used to her, "Hey there, gorgeous." She smiled when he nudged into her palm softly. "That's it. Hello."

Bull glanced at her inquisitively. "You ride, ma'am?"

"I used to, when I was younger," she said quietly, a hint of wistfulness to her voice, "Did you give him a name yet?"

"We were thinking of Old Abe," Martin put forward, crossing his arms, "Y'know, after the eagle."

Eleanor couldn't help but laugh at that. "What, the division's _female_ mascot?" The horse was very clearly male.

"He don' need to know that," Bull smirked, patting the strong neck. Eleanor was about to remark she felt the horse deserved more credit than that when Harry Welsh's voice rang out in the distance.

"First platoon, on your feet! Easy's moving out!"

"Guess that's us," Martin sighed. Christenson pulled a face.

"Great, I didn't get to finish my sketch."

"Who knows," Eleanor remarked, suddenly pensive, "You might see Abe here again."

Pat didn't seem too sure about that. "Yeah. Maybe."

Martin shot Eleanor a brief smile before jumping over the fence, soon followed by Randleman. "See you on the other side, ma'am."

"Good luck, boys," she called after them, reaching up to scratch Abe's ear. An idea was forming in her mind, the adrenaline that came with any kind of action slowly beginning to stir in her blood. She tilted her head and pondered the horse for a moment, considering.

"How about we find you a saddle, huh?"

* * *

As it turned out, Old Abe was the perfect way of getting around in the lead up to and during the action on Carentan. Getting him from Saint Come Du Mont towards Carentan had been a little more complicated than strictly ideal, but now that things were starting to heat up, he provided a quick way of travel between the different regiments. She moved too fast for many to ask questions and simply stunned more than a few into silence as well; a stark white horse with a female rider was not something a person would generally expect to see in a war zone. The one real issue she had was her inability to openly carry a weapon. As a supposed medic, she wouldn't have been allowed to carry any; the red cross armband would only provide her protection if she was seen as a true noncombatant. It had taken her some time consider it, but eventually she had wrapped up a rifle and attached it to the front of her saddle in the vague hope no one would recognize it for what it was. _To hell with it. It's worth the risk._

Adrenaline had a tendency of making one a bit reckless.

Towards 0730 of that morning, the action was already winding down. Things had moved unexpectedly quickly and gone surprisingly well for the Americans; there had been relatively little resistance to deal with and they were nearing the complete capture of the town. A little voice nagged at the back of Eleanor's mind - _it's too easy, far too easy, there has to be more to it than this - _but until she could get back to her hub or send out a patrol, she had no idea what the cause of the discrepancy was. Up to then, she had to focus on keeping communications running until the division-wide radio system was put back into business, and so she galloped into one of the south-western lanes of Carentan to find the 506th.

Nearing the outskirts of the town, Abe skidded away from a bullet that ricocheted only inches from them, but she managed to subdue him gently with a pat on the neck and a few whispered words. For a cob she had found in a random farm yard, he had proven to be a steady ride, but even the best startled from impacts like that. Up ahead she could see the familiar figures of a handful of 506th officers; it seemed like they had done their duty and secured their designated area. She winced as she recognized the lieutenant closest to her; of all the company COs to run into...

"Whoa," she bade her horse calmly, glad to find her voice was steady as she drew him up besides the man, "Morning, lieutenant."

Richard Winters, looking up at the unexpected sound of hoofbeats and a well-known voice, felt his mouth fall open in astonishment. Of course he had known Eleanor worked as a runner for the division, but regardless of that fact, this was awfully exposed and out in the open. Combat had only recently started to wind down; bullets were still flying. It seemed he was not the only one leading a charmed life. He shook his head minutely and managed a greeting.

"Lieutenant."

She inclined her head as a sign of recognition, gaze briefly diverting to where Nixon stood opposite him. _Keep it simple. Just another day's work. _"I've just talked to the 501st," she said, steering the nervously prancing gelding around him, "They've got the area cleared of Krauts from here all the way north." A leftover bullet clattered against the stones, causing the horse to rear up restlessly; strangely, she could hear Winters' sharp intake of breath even as she fought to get the animal under control again, running a hand through its mane soothingly. Her smile was strained. "Well. Almost."

The redhead nodded, utterly bemused by the bizarre exchange. "Tell Colonel Johnson the 506th has secured all positions south of them."

Tipping her helmet, she was already spurring the horse back into action. _That's all I need. Don't dwell. Don't make things unnecessarily awkward. Off we go. _"Will do," she promised, wheeling Abe around and flailing a little when he slipped on the loose cobblestones. Within moments she was off again, leaving Winters and Nixon to stare after her and fighting down her own feelings of unease. This was the first time either of the men had seen her in action, and she had not particularly liked the looks of shock and dismay on their faces. She wondered if, in her strange longing for occupation and action, she had let the thrill get the best of her and was getting rash. Riding around like this, while convenient, was perhaps not the most sensible thing to do; she hadn't been this close to discovery since London, and England hadn't been swarming with nazi occupiers.

Shaking her head to clear it, she directed Abe towards the 501st's position. _Focus. Don't linger on it now. Remember you have a job to do. _She sighed. _I just wish it was easier sometimes._

By the time she had met up with the 501st and was once again returning to her own regiment, the area had been cleared enough that she felt she could afford a more leisurely pace and let her horse rest for a bit. She let him stretch out his neck, sitting back in the saddle and letting the sun warm her face, planning ahead for the rest of the day. There was rain on the way, she could tell, and so she enjoyed the momentary breathing space and what little heat she had before then. Silently, she prayed the casualties amongst the 506th wouldn't be too bad, that her friends had been spared-

_Pwekong!_

Suddenly, something bit into her side, knocking the breath out of her and causing her to slump forward. Pain blossomed in her side along with warm, sticky liquid; she looked down, slowly, almost in awe, at the red already staining her shirt and jacket. A second bullet whizzed dangerously close to her ear. There was no denying it now. She had been made, and Death was stretching out its hand and beckoning her to go with him.

Defiance roared within her. Suddenly, she was desperate to live. _No. You can't have me - not yet. Not this time. I've got to get back to them. _She was just able to see a muzzle flash in a tree behind her from her doubled over position, and she swore quietly. "Shit." Grabbing up the reins, she urged Abe forward, staying low as she maneuvered him along the street, fingers shaking with a sudden burst of adrenalin. It made her fumble with the leather strips as she attempted to bind them together, moving on autopilot and survival instincts now, finally securing them in a knot that she could only hope would hold.

Down in Carentan, Easy Company looked up in alarm at the unexpected burst of rifle fire that seemed far too close to their own position for comfort. "Jesus, what was that?" More exclaimed, grabbing Malarkey and dragging him down to the ground, bewilderment evident on both of their faces. Closer to the road, officers were whipping out their binoculars, trying to spot where the assault was coming from; they had thought the entire area had been searched and proven safe. Apparently they had been wrong.

"Fuck," Harry Welsh uttered, seeing the messenger racing towards them, the dust kicked up by the horse they were riding doing little to hide the bullets reflecting off nearby. "We must have missed a sniper." By his side, Buck Compton looked on with increasing amazement.

"What the hell are they doing out there?" he wondered out loud, casting a worried glance at the men who, though apparently out of range, still looked a might uneasy about the entire situation. "It's a courier," Welsh answered, aggravated, seeking out their own sniper amongst the crowd gathering in the square.

"Shifty, you got eyes on the shooter?"

"Sir!" Powers answered, narrowing his eyes to get a better look, "Sir, he's in the tree, but it's outta range and our boy's too close."

Along the road, Eleanor had managed to regain control over her limbs and had grabbed the ill-concealed rifle attached to her saddle, all the while cursing her own stupidity. She almost dropped it as another bullet grazed her arm; disregarding the sting and the increasing agony in her side, she locked and loaded the weapon, forcing the horse on as she prepared to turn back and take aim. It was an incredibly long shot, but damned if she wouldn't at least try and fight back.

_I can't die. Not after everything I've been through._

Setting his jaw, Welsh nodded tersely at Powers' report, wincing when the messenger was hit in the arm and recoiled visibly. Bill Guarnere, his hand on Shifty's shoulder and focus on the road like everybody else's, spoke up urgently. "Sir, we gotta do something."

"Stay low," Welsh ordered, motioning towards one of the machine gun crews. "Gordon, More, get your MG set up and wait for my orders."

"But sir-" Gordon protested, knowing there was little time left and anxious to help the poor bugger on the horse out. Welsh shook his head, no more pleased than any of them with the situation, but unable to allow them to open fire.

"Stay low! If you fire now, you'll just hit them rather than the Kraut."

The gunfire increased. Eleanor, having finished priming her rifle, glanced over her shoulder to gauge her shot, knowing she would never be able to hit the person shooting at her - not like this, on a moving horse and with a wounded arm - but maybe, just maybe, she could distract them long enough to make it back to safety.

There. Second lowest branch on the left. Breathing out, she began to turn...

"Jesus _Christ_!"

"They're not going to make it!"

Pushing Abe to the side with her legs, she swung around in the saddle smoothly, taking aim in one fluent movement. "Come on, come on..." she breathed, tensing her hand on the trigger, biting her lip in anticipation, releasing the pressure and feeling the kickback against her shoulder as if in slow motion-

"Sir, we gotta-"

"No, goddammit, wait!"

And all at once, the barrage stopped and she swung back around, hand trembling around the rifle as she threw herself forward and pressed close to the horse's body. _Please let me live. Please, God, just let me live._

"What the-" Welsh breathed, wide-eyed, as the messenger thundered into Carentan at full speed, now close enough that he could see his - no, _her _- face. "Holy _shit_! Open fire!"

Stunned cries of _Lieutenant Fairfax_ and _Ellie_ went up around the square as she arrived, only increasing in volume when she straightened up shakily in an attempt to catch her breath. She was too rattled to notice the amazed glances they exchanged, the astounded whispers and curses; many of them were running towards her, gathering around as she let Abe - trembling just as badly as she was - skid to a halt in the middle of the plaza.

"Whoa," she bid quietly, hoarsely, running a hand over the animal's sweat-soaked neck. _Jesus, that was close. Guess that's what I get for wanting more action. _Looking up, she could see a flabbergasted Harry Welsh pushing his way through the crowd, followed closely by Buck Compton. Someone, bless them, had grabbed a hold of Abe's reins so she was able to dismount, swinging her leg over the horse's back and wincing at the pain in her side and the throbbing tug of her arm. Faces blurred around her, their corresponding voices seeming very far away, her heart still beating wildly in her chest.

Welsh stopped cold before her. He seemed terrified; she summed up a weak grin. _I'm safe. I made it. _"Lieutenants."

"You shot a goddamn sniper from a goddamn horse in the middle of a goddamn war zone."

Right. He didn't know about her being OSS yet. None of them did. It occurred to her that this might be bad.

"I think I hit the tree, actually," she replied faintly, feeling dizzy. _Adrenaline leaving the system, _part of her brain told her, _got to sit down before you fall down. _She swayed and stumbled. _Aw, hell._

There was a hand patting her face when the world refocused around her, and she realized she was on the ground, held up by a babbling Harry Welsh, his voice pressing. Buck was bent down in front of her. "You're bleeding," he was saying, a lot less frazzled than his colleague, turning up to search the gathered crowd. "Doc!"

Eleanor blinked and repeated her earlier thought. "Jesus, that was close."

Next to her, Welsh let out an incredulous, almost shrill laugh. "You think? 'The hell are you doing here' doesn't even _begin_ to cover it, you crazy fuck."

_He must be really worried if he's being that crude around me, _she thought, smiling a little. Her side and arm still hurt like hell, but now that things were starting to clear again, she was able to perceive neither injuries were exactly life threatening.

"Sir, is she all right?"

That was Guarnere's familiar South Philly accent; she glanced up to catch his gaze, only now noticing they were _all_ staring at her. _Oh boy. _This would take some serious explaining on her part; at least her mission had moved mostly beyond the strict need for secrecy now. Surely an intelligence unit wouldn't be that hard to process and accept for them.

"Move, coming through..."

"Come on, give the doc some space," Welsh ordered loudly, remaining close to her as if he were afraid to leave her side, "Hubba hubba!"

Eugene Roe waded through the masses, the company backing away - if only briefly - to let him through. When he reached them, he was kneeling before her in an instant, dark blue eyes searching, hands probing her wound. "Hey, lieutenant," he said softly, and she felt herself calm further at the soothing lilt of his voice, "Nice shot, ma'am."

"Thanks, Gene."

"Let me just have a look, huh?"

"'s Fine," she said, shaking her head, "Just a scratch- the adrenaline wearing off- really, I'm okay."

Gene was unimpressed. "Uh-huh."

Amongst the men, one trooper eventually plucked up the courage to inquire what the hell had just happened once the Doc had arrived and they were all assured their friend would be fine. "Lieutenant Welsh?" Hoobler called, gaining the officer's attention and stepping forward a bit awkwardly, "Sir, the fellas would like to know what Lieutenant Fairfax was doing out there."

Eleanor looked up, eyebrows raised so high they were nearing her hairline. "Lieutenant Fairfax can hear you just fine, Hoob," she remarked drily, clenching her jaw when Roe prodded her side and made a low sound of concern. The boys chuckled tentatively, nudging the abashed looking corporal as he apologized to the lieutenant profusely.

"Sorry, ma'am."

"The answer is serving my country, in case you were wondering." Murmurs arose from the gathered hordes and Compton and Welsh both looked at her as if she was insane. _Hell, _she thought, somewhat amused, _I probably am. _"They asked me to work as a courier, and so I did." It wasn't exactly the truth, but it was near enough.

"Aren't you a little close to the front, ma'am?" Hoobler couldn't help but ask, no doubt voicing many of his colleagues' thoughts, and she laughed skeptically, wincing when it pulled at the deep graze to her side.

"I'd say this pretty much constitutes to the front, wouldn't you, corporal?" she cracked, annoyed to note her wound might be a little more severe than she had initially thought. Nothing life threatening or even debilitating, but it would be sore for a good long while.

Sure enough, Roe soon confirmed her suspicions. "Ma'am, this needs stitches."

She groaned. "Fantastic."

"You heard the doc, boys," Harry said, wasting no time in getting her the care she needed, "That's enough for now. Move aside." He carefully hoisted her to her feet, supporting her despite his shorter height. Seeing their predicament, Compton stepped forward, holding out his arms as if to carry her.

"C'mere, Elle."

"I can walk, Buck," she sighed, too stubborn and too proud to do otherwise. It was nice of him to offer, but she was injured, not dying, and she wasn't about to give in to further weakness. Still, her friend seemed skeptical.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah," she assured him, patting him on the shoulder, "I've had worse."

Harry wrapped an arm around her and began to steer her towards the aid station, leaving the murmuring crowd behind. Buck frowned. "'Had worse'?"

"You want to explain to us what the fuck is going on here?"

_Dear Lord, where to begin. Hi, my name is Eleanor, and I'm a spy? Don't worry, though, I'm still your pal..._

Luckily for her, she didn't have to try: Lewis Nixon came walking out of the aid station just as they neared it, no doubt alerted by the sheer amount of noise rising from the square. "What's all the ruckus about?" he asked of no one in particular, gaze searching and face paling when he caught sight of Eleanor and the three men. "Ellie-" he stammered, "Ellie, you're bleeding."

"Truly, Nix, your observational skills are astounding."

"She's fine, sir," Doc Roe guaranteed him, "It's just a graze."

"Yeah," Nixon replied roughly, shaking his head, "I thought you'd promised Hester and I you wouldn't try any death defying acts. What the hell were you thinking?"

"Wait," Welsh exclaimed, "You telling me you knew about this, Lewis?"

Turning to his friend, Nixon smiled slightly. "Christ, Harry, I figured it out back in England. She's OSS."

Compton's jaw dropped. "Strategic Services?" On Eleanor's other side, Harry turned towards her, shocked.

"He's shitting me, right? He's got to be joking." She just shook her head. "Jesus."

"I'm sorry I couldn't tell you before," she said quietly as they entered the building, meaning every word of it, "Covert mission, and all that."

Buck, ever practical, was already thinking ahead. "What should we tell the men?"

"Tell them..." she sighed, "Tell them that I'm an OSS operative working with the intelligence unit, and that I've been trained for this. Nothing more. They don't need to concern themselves with the details so long as they know I can take care of myself." She looked at the medic walking with them, hoping that statement would prove true and that he would keep his silence on anything more he might overhear. "Gene?"

"Not a word from me, ma'am."

"Thanks. I think it speaks for itself that we shouldn't go spreading this around too much."

"Yes ma'am," Compton smiled, still seeming a little bewildered, "You going to be all right?"

With the reassurance that she was, he left to talk to the company as the rest of them headed into the main area of treatment. Roe motioned towards an empty stretcher. "Have a seat."

"Shouldn't she be going straight to the field hospital?"

Eleanor was torn between being touched by her friends' concern and annoyed at the abundance of it; had she been anyone else, Harry would have never made a statement like that. "Stop fussing" she told him, climbing onto the seat, "They're probably still in transit anyway." Gene had grabbed some form of antiseptic and, lifting her shirt, began to clean her wound. She shrunk away at the sting of it.

"_Shit,_ that hurts!"

The medic looked up at her apologetically. "Sorry, ma'am." Lew, meanwhile, seemed almost amused by her colorful choice of words. He hadn't ever heard her swear before.

"Whoa, language, young lady."

"Oh, go to hell, Lewis."

"Are you okay? Can I get you anything?"

She rolled her eyes. "Harry-"

"Nix, what's-" another voice joined in, and Eleanor was startled to see Dick hobbling in. Her throat constricted; evidently she wasn't the only one who had been hit. "Eleanor?"

"You're limping," she said by ways of greeting, frowning at him, but he ignored her completely and turned to the men instead.

"What happened?"

"Sniper, just now," Welsh responded, "Where have you been?"

"Sitting with Tipper. They're waiting to transfer him." Eleanor's frown deepened. _Wait, what happened to Tip? _The trio continued to fret over her; they were really starting to grate on her nerves. She marveled at Doc Roe's composure.

"Doc, how bad is it?"

"Can all of you please get it into your heads that I'm _fine?_" she said brusquely, irked, "Because I _am_ fine, you know."

She was thrown by the concern that darkened Winters' eyes. "Ellie, you got hit."

"So did you, apparently," she retorted, shooting him a look, her own worry over him getting the best of her. It seemed he had been lucky - he was standing and moving about, after all - but things could have so very easily been so very much worse, and she didn't like the way that thought made her feel.

"It was just a ricochet."

"Yeah, well, mine was just a graze," she rejoined, grimacing when she saw him shift his weight with the tiniest of winces, "It looks worse than 'just' a ricochet."

Nixon snorted. "That's because Harry here tried to dig the bullet out with his trench knife."

"Oh, for crying out loud!" Eleanor exclaimed, stunned that he would be so stupid as to try something like that, "The lot of you are so thick sometimes, you know that?"

"Says the girl who rode a horse through a war zone!"

"I was only doing my job-" She shifted, agitated, and regretted it immediately when it sent a spike of pain through her side. "Ow!"

"Could all of you _please_ settle down?" Roe blurted, finally losing his patience. All four officers turned towards him, surprised at the otherwise taciturn medic's outburst. Color blossomed in his pale cheeks in an instant. "Sorry, sir," he muttered, bending back down to tend to her wound, "She needs to sit still, is all."

"Of course." Winters responded, bemused. Their attention was drawn to the doorway when Compton came in and called for his CO.

"Lieutenant Winters? Strayer wants the officers at battalion HQ."

"Thanks, Buck," he nodded, turning to his two best friends, "Harry, Nix, you go ahead. I'll catch up with you."

Welsh, sensing they might need a moment alone, was quick to agree. "Sure," he said, but jabbed a finger at Eleanor before grabbing his gear, "You'd _better_ look after yourself, Fairfax."

She smiled, annoyance fading and touched despite their hovering and overprotectiveness. "I'll try." Once they had left, she sighed and ran a weary hand through her hair. "What happened to Tipper?"

"Grenade while clearing out a house," Winters said quietly, mouth tightening, "It's not good."

_Oh, Tip. _Eleanor breathed out slowly and shook her head, closing her eyes fleetingly. "God."

Silence stretched between them until Roe finished cleaning and disinfecting her side. "There you go, ma'am," he smiled up at her a little, patting her leg. She returned his smile.

"Thanks, Eugene."

"Let me just get a bandage, huh?"

The Cajun was working on fastening the bandage around her waist when a cry went up from the other side of the aid station. "Doc! We need a hand here!"

Roe hesitated. "Could you-"

Eleanor nodded, taking over the dressing. "Go."

She fumbled with the bindings for a moment, unable to quite tie them right, but startled and caught her breath when a gentle hand caught her own. Eyes flicking up, she saw Winters smiling at her faintly, his expression somewhere between amusement and indulgence. "Let me."

Her hand slipped down wordlessly, gaze remaining fixed on his face as his fingers flitted over the linen. It was impossible not to shiver when his cool fingers grazed her bare skin and lingered there; her heart skipped an aching beat when she saw him swallow, jaw clenching and unclenching.

"Dick..."

He didn't move, so still it almost seemed as if he wasn't breathing. "You could have died."

"So could you," she whispered in response, knowing how close she had come - could still be - to losing him. The thought of it haunted her even in her dreams, and though she knew it was a risk they all took and she respected that, it did not make it any easier to cope with, nor any more conceivable to think of a future without him.

Yet there was more to it: she had long ago realized how deeply she cared for and had fallen in love with him. That was nothing new. It was _his_ behavior and feelings that she marveled about, having agonized for days over his comment on how he hadn't read the file she had given him, thinking he may have been too disgusted with her duplicity to do so. Now it dawned on her that his reasons might have been different, that she may have once again jumped to conclusions too quickly. Hope was rekindled at his apparent concern and gentle actions; what if he had made his decision because it didn't matter to him what she had done or who she had been in the past? What if, despite everything, he feared for as she did for him, and cared for her as deeply?

Something stirred in her then, the proverbial butterflies in her stomach fluttering wildly, and she leaned her head against his shoulder in an instinctive gesture of affection - of love. Closing her eyes, she felt his steady heartbeat against her forehead and wondered how she could have ever forgotten how well their bodies seemed to fit together. He breathed out slowly, just a little unsteady, a hand coming up to rest on the back of her head while the other remained on her waist. Sighing in turn, she hummed contentedly; sometimes actions spoke louder than words, and she was fairly certain his actions had made her fall in love all over again.

They sat like that for long, precious moments, his eyes closed and cheek burrowed into her hair, both of them forgetting the world around them and simply reveling in being in close. Eleanor felt the last vestiges of tension drain out of her, felt the dark presence of Death recede, replaced with the love and warmth of having him near. She wanted to live. She wanted to love. She wanted him, and for the first time in years, despite everything, she was starting to believe she might actually get what she wanted.

Her lips quirked up as he pressed a kiss into her hair. _For love is as strong as death.__**  
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* * *

**Well, this was one beast of a chapter to get through! Hope you've all enjoyed - do leave a review, they mean the world to me. :) **

**Also, out of interest - Harlequin Sequins and I were discussing what we imagined our characters to look like the other day. I would personally love to know what you picture Ellie as; is there any particular actress that you envision, maybe a combination of several?**


	18. Hit The Road

**Disclaimer: this story is based chiefly on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.**

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* * *

**Humanity was a double-edged sword at the best of times; never mind the worst. In war, as in any situation, a single person could only do so much before they needed rest, got hurt, or become overwhelmed by their own feelings and emotions. It was, in many ways, an intensified form of normal life where emotions could spin and bounce wildly like a child's yo-yo, soaring from the highest of highs to the lowest of lows in the blink of an eye. There were the rushes of adrenaline and the inevitable slumps afterward, the joy of the special kind of camaraderie forged only in combat and the pain of losing the very people who inspired that same happiness. The sheer amount of feeling could be overwhelming and it was often hard not to get swallowed up whole by it, and yet Eleanor could not imagine functioning as a nurse without compassion, could not fathom acting as an operative without a sense of patriotism and a certain level of hostility towards the enemy. All at once, it made her strong and it made her weak, and while she had come to accept the shortcomings of her own mortality to a certain extent, there would always be times when she cursed the very traits that made her function.

The morning of June 12th had thus far been mostly made up of high points for Eleanor. The capture of Carentan had gone surprisingly smoothly and, after defying death and a German sniper with only a graze in her side to remember them by, she'd finally had the conciliation with Dick she had so longed for. For now at least all was well with the world and she was still happily ensconced by the feelings of comfort and warmth that the earlier events had brought. _I've lived to see another day, surrounded by people who care about me. It's all a person can ask for, isn't it?_

Hidden away in the back of the aid station for privacy, she got rid of the blood-stained top half of her nursing corps field uniform and replaced it with a slightly less worse for wear Screaming Eagles' shirt and jacket. Changing was a slow process, the newly wrapped wound still smarting horrendously, but she managed to shrug into the new set of clothes and suspenders without too much trouble, smiling when she rifled through the collection of drawings Christenson had given her when she had left Aldbourne. The stack of papers had been tucked away in one of the pockets of her old fatigues and showed some considerable wear and tear by now, yet they remained a comforting, constant reminder of what she was fighting for and she had thankfully been able to salvage them for the most part. Folding them up again, she stowed them away safely before retying the silk scarf - another bit of memorabilia from England - around her neck and doing up the unsoiled jacket.

She could hear her girls arriving towards the anterior of the building, already swooping in to help take care of the wounded, and she made a mental note to put Betty in for a commendation or perhaps a promotion; her second had done and continued to do a marvelous job. Goodness only knew where she'd be without her. Indeed, all of the girls had done exceptionally well. Their days were long and their shifts harrowing, but she had yet to hear a single one of them complain or do anything but a fine job. It went without saying that she was fiercely proud of them, but perhaps more importantly the men were more than ever appreciative of their presence; a little kindness and understanding went a long way, and Eleanor's unit provided plenty of that in otherwise wretched surroundings.

Yet what goes up must also come down again, and her little bubble of contentment was soon burst by the sound of screams and urgent orders also coming from the front. A major undertaking like the capture of Carentan was bound to come with the necessary amount of casualties, but that did not make it any easier to stomach the agonized cries of the wounded. Flinching, Eleanor grabbed her bag and rushed back into the main area of the temporary hospital, locating the source of the commotion within seconds. Katie and Nancy - along with several medics - were holding down a patient who choked and cried as he struggled against their hold; a quick once-over revealed that both of his legs were badly torn up and the entire right side of his face was covered in gauze. At a guess, there had been some damage to the eye.

It took her a moment to realize it was in fact Ed Tipper she was looking at.

_Oh, Jesus. _She caught her breath involuntarily; she had known that he'd been hit, of course, and Dick had told her it wasn't good, but this- this was plain awful. It broke her heart to see him looking so very far from the sweet boy with the terrible pokerface who had roared with laughter when he had pushed her into the Aldbourne snow on Christmas day. He was trashing about in sheer terror, seemingly unaware of where he was or what was happening, and the nurse in her registered that he was likely to exacerbate his wounds if he kept fighting like this. Something had to be done. Blinking, she forced air back into her lungs and the rest of her into action.

"What's going on here?"

Nancy's head snapped up when she recognized her superior's voice, her lips drawn into a grim line when she met her gaze. "He won't settle down, ma'am," she responded, carefully but firmly pressing down on a relatively undamaged shoulder. Eleanor hurried over but was prevented from making it to Campbell's side, blocked by the swarming medics.

"How much morphine has he had?" she asked, peeking over Nancy's shoulder in lieu of part-taking in the attempts to keep Tipper down, noting vaguely that Katie - standing across from them - showed signs of being more than a little upset by the whole situation.

"Too much already."

Eleanor clenched her jaw. _No time to worry about her now. We'll deal with it later. _"Okay, let me through," she ordered, her tone brokering no argument. One of the medics at last saw it fit to step aside enough for her to push through and she quickly reached out a hand to touch her friend's forehead, bending over him in the hope of gaining his attention. "Tip," she said, quietly urgent; he didn't respond and continued to writhe. "_Tipper,_" she repeated, more forcefully this time, "Ed, look at me."

A single blue eye, pupil blown and rims reddened, focused on her face at last. The cheek she stroked was wet with tears and the sticky remnants of blood, but at least he was looking at her. "Hey, sweetheart, there you are."

"E-Ellie?" he stammered, and she smiled somewhat, her free hand finding his and letting him cling to it.

"Yeah, it's me," she soothed, smoothing back his hair tenderly, "Sh."

"It can't see, Ellie," he whimpered pitifully, his body beginning to still under her touch, giving the gathered medics a chance to further treat his wounds. Nevertheless, the earlier panic lingered and she was quick to hush him.

"I know, honey," she said, voice catching the slightest bit as his grip on her hand tightened desperately, "I know. Sh. But you're going to be just fine. You're going to be okay."

His voice was impossibly small. "Promise?"

She hesitated only a moment. How many times had she made promises she couldn't keep to the wounded and the dying? How often had she lied to them outright? _He might lose his leg. Maybe both. Christ knows what'll happen to his eye, and yet right now, all he needs to hear is that he's going to be all right. _"Promise," she repeated softly, "But you've got to settle down. Take it easy, all right?" He nodded dazedly, still shaking, tears still falling, but calmer than he had been before. Her smile grew sad when he shuddered against her. "That's it. Hush now. Sh."

The age-old litany of half-meaningless reassurances appeared to work. She remained at his side until he had been readied for evacuation, talking to him in hushed tones and never once letting go of his hand. Glancing at her watch eventually, she realized she was meant to have been talking to Colonel Sink quite some time ago already and, as loathe as she was to leave, had probably better go. Sighing, she saw Gale passing by and flagged her down.

"Sit with him for a while, would you?" she requested in a low voice, gently untangling her hand from Tipper's, "Keep him awake, keep him calm."

"Yes ma'am," Gale replied solemnly, face set in an expressionless mask that was betrayed only by the turmoil Eleanor could see in her friend's eyes upon closer inspection. It was unsettling - almost frightening - to see that old trick of her own reflected on the younger woman's face, knowing as she did that she was responsible for it. Eleanor nodded slowly, squeezing the nurse's shoulder briefly before heading towards the exit, forced to focus on her breathing to maintain her own shaky composure. _Breathe in, breathe out..._

Halfway outside, she noticed Katie huddled away into one of the far corners of the room and instantly rebuked herself for not remembering to find the girl to begin with. It was obvious she had been troubled by Tipper's agony; the two of them were close, from what Eleanor remembered, and Katie was the type of person who - while generally upbeat and merry - cared deeply about her friends. No matter how many wounded men a nurse had dealt with, seeing one's own friends torn up like that was never easy.

The operative exhaled slowly. Her entire unit were good friends with many of the men and seeing them hurt was almost unavoidable; how many of the other girls had undergone similar problems to the one Katie was facing now? Had she, in all her haste and concentration on work, neglected her girls? Had she perhaps relied on Betty too much, as talented and capable as her second was? Doubt stirred in her mind, guilt gnawing at her conscience - she was responsible for these women and their wellbeing and yet she had let them fall by the way side - but she pushed it aside to look after Katie. Even if she had overlooked their troubles before, she wasn't about to do so again.

"Katie?" she called quietly, reaching out a hand to touch her friend's arm. The shorter woman startled and turned around, blushing when she realized she had been caught in her moment of weakness.

"I-I'm sorry, lieutenant," she said haltingly, stumbling over her words as she dashed at her eyes hurriedly, "I-"

"Hey, it's okay," Eleanor consoled, seeing the tears begin anew and taking pity on the poor girl, "C'mere. It's okay."

She pulled the nurse against her, folding the girl into her arms and rubbing her back in calming circles. She understood her distress all too well; how could she not, when mere minutes ago she'd had trouble swallowing the lump in her own throat? It wasn't that she was particularly close to Tipper - he was a friend, to be sure, but it wasn't as though they were bosom buddies - but seeing him in the throes of torment like that had affected her, too. No one deserved that kind of suffering he had and probably would endure for quite some time to come, and any human being who could stand to witness it without sympathy was cold hearted indeed.

Of course, the fact that he was so dear to Katie didn't help the situation any, and Eleanor tried very hard not to think of the close friends she had seen through or even lost to similar situations. Remotely, she wondered if Anne and Joe Liebgott - the other two members of Katie and Tipper's little quartet of friends - were aware of what had happened, and if she should perhaps see to it that she handed Katie over to them. _A burden shared is a burden halved - or so they say..._

"It's j-just-" Katie was hiccuping, fist clenched into Eleanor's jacket, "He's my friend."

"I know he is," Eleanor replied quietly, caressing the the girl's hair, "But he's one of the lucky ones- he's alive, and he'll recover." _More or less, anyway. _"Remember that."

The younger woman sniffed desolately. "Yes, ma'am."

"Come on," Eleanor said encouragingly, shifting her hold so that she had one arm wrapped around Katie's shoulders and could steer her whichever way was most convenient. Passing her subordinate a handkerchief, she scanned the room for signs of Anne and made for one of the surgeons when she couldn't find the other nurse. The very least she could do was give Katie some purpose, and the medics would no doubt need help with the evacuation of the wounded; two birds, one stone. "Let's get the boys out of here, huh?"

All of mankind makes choices in life. Some are as simple as what to have for breakfast or what color blouse to buy; others challenge us and test the very principles that make us who we are. In combat, these choices are thrown into something nearing hyperrealism. Even for the lowest ranked soldier, decisions may make a world of difference. Lives depend on them.

For Eleanor, the numbers of lives depending on her choices were numerous, and so she generally considered them carefully. Yet in that very moment, her tearful friend clasped close against her and others already clamoring for her attention, the decision was simple.

_Screw regiment_. _They need me here._

_

* * *

_

Time passed as she buzzed around the infirmary, the early hours of the morning giving way as the sun rose in the sky. Not long after she had seen to it that Katie was taken care of, another hand caught her wrist, effectively bringing her to a halt. She half-turned to see Carwood Lipton blinking up at her blearily.

"Ellie?"

The lower half of him was covered by a thin green blanket but she could see the cut on his face and the bandage on his arm. His wounds weren't as dire or even life threatening as Tipper's - she breathed a sigh of relief at that - but he seemed pretty out of it, morphine no doubt having made him drowsy. It was a small miracle he had recognized her at all among the hustle and bustle of the aid station.

"Hey, Lip," she greeted him warmly, hand coming up to grasp his arm, "How are you doing?"

He pressed his eyes shut briefly, shaking his head a little in confusion. "Wha-" he swallowed, eyes catching hers again, "Where am I?"

_Bless, he really is out of it. _"Hospital in Carentan," she told him, satisfied to note the gash on his face was already showing signs of healing on its own, "You were wounded, remember?"

"Yeah," he murmured, voice hoarse, and she grabbed her canteen and carefully tilted up his head to let him drink from it. His smile, though faint, was grateful. "The boys?"

Leave it to Lipton, self-appointed mother bear of the company, to worry about his boys when he himself was injured. Eleanor smiled. "They're okay, Lip. They're being looked after."

A weary nod; he was steadily drifting off to sleep now that he knew the men were all right. "'Kay."

She squeezed his arm affectionately, glad to know he would recover given time. The last thing she wanted was another Toccoa man gone and another grieving widow. "You just sleep, all right?"

Tucking him in, she dawdled at his side momentarily before setting off again. At this rate, the day ahead would be a long one. _So much to do, so little time..._

* * *

By the time most of the wounded had been evacuated and Eleanor managed to escape the confines of the aid station, it was well past midday. She walked outside, silently wondering why Sink hadn't sent a runner to inquire after her yet, and had to narrow her eyes to shield them from the sudden brightness of the sun until she could get her helmet back on. In the distance, she was amazed to see Ron Speirs - wounded in action only a few days ago - circulating around the square. _Goddamn him. _He wasn't even limping; the only sign that he had been hurt at all was a slight, barely discernible stiffness in his movements. She shook her head, half-annoyed, half-impressed. _Crazy bastard._

Her eyes were soon drawn to Joe Liebgott sitting near the entrance to the field hospital, uncharacteristically quiet and staring off into space, his usually cold eyes oddly unfocused. It answered her earlier question instantly; by the look of him, he knew damn well that Tipper had been hurt. She wandered over to him, brows furrowed in concern. "Lieb?"

No response. "Hey, Joe, you all right?"

"Hm?" he replied vaguely, lifting his head and gazing in her general direction, "Yeah, 'm fine."

She tilted her head, unconvinced, but kept silent. _If this is fine, I'd hate to see the flip side. _

"You, uh," he cleared his throat, "You seen Tip?"

"I did," she confirmed softly, cautiously reaching out a hand; though she doubted he would flare up at this very moment or toward her at all, Liebgott's temper was infamous and it was better to be safe than sorry. "He's going to be okay."

He nodded slowly, dark eyes unfocused. "Yeah. That's good. Thanks, Elle."

Just when she was about to sit down and talk to him some more, the anticipated regimental runner found her at last. "Lieutenant Fairfax?"

Raising a hand, she held him off for an instant. "Hold on," she bade him, turning back to Liebgott, "You sure you're all right, Joe?" It was unsettling to see him this quiet, this morose. As wary as she was of his tantrums, she'd take them over this strange sullenness any day.

His smile, when directed at her, was fleeting and humorless. "I can walk, can't I?"

And that was that - within seconds, he had gathered his gear and walked away, leaving her staring after him, eyes troubled. Sink's runner, meanwhile, was tugging at her sleeve insistently. She was briefly tempted to tell him the gesture reminded her of a five year old begging their parent for candy.

"Ma'am, General Taylor wants you at division. Colonel Sink sent me to drive you there."

She frowned. _What would Taylor want me for? Something's got to be up._

"Thanks, Andy," she said, considering the kind of materials that might be necessary or come in use, "Let me just grab my things."

Gathering up decryption manuals and a fresh batch of medical supplies, Eleanor briefed Betty and checked on the rest of the team before jumping into the jeep and taking off towards division headquarters. Nerves fluttered in her stomach. Sometimes decisions made the difference between life and death. She just hoped she hadn't made the wrong one in staying with the hospital for longer than strictly necessary.

* * *

At division, Eleanor found herself hidden away in the back rooms - 'clandestine' apparently translated to spaces at the very edge of any premises - of the headquarters building, working on a particularly tricky piece of encrypted enemy communication that General Taylor had tossed her way the moment she had arrived. Though it had already taken her several hours and the weight of anticipation had become almost unbearable, she still took some small amount of pleasure in the slow unraveling and solving of the riddle presented to her. It was a little like solving puzzles; first, she had deciphered the separate pieces, then connected the lot to try and make sense of them, and finally she would scrutinize the assembled outcome for possible mistakes and errors. Eleanor was nearing that final stage where things started to come together and the little thrill of excitement at the prospect of figuring it out was undeniable.

It really was very lucky that the French and British had managed to get a hold of a German Enigma machine and its operating procedures all the way back in 1939; because of it, the Allies had been able to create the Ultra system of decryption that now empowered them to learn of enemy movement and strategy well before any actual assault was made. This cryptanalysis was a secretive business, of course - the very reason it was referred to as 'ultra' was because it was deemed more important than even the highest security classification otherwise available - lest the Axis find out about it, but it had proven its worth time and again.

Yet as the message became clearer, fear and unease crept its way up Eleanor's spine, making her heart skip a beat and her breath quicken when she reread what she had assembled.

_17th Panzer to reinforce the sixth... Carentan to be retaken... counterattack no later than morning. _

She blanched. _Oh my God._ It took her only a moment to double check the data, the translations, everything, but she had gotten it right the first time. The Germans wanted the town back and they were probably regrouping at that very moment. If they managed to surprise the Allied forces enough to retake Carentan - which wasn't entirely out of the question, given how tired and undersupplied the paratroopers were by now - before continuing their push through the conquered area, they would end up dividing up the seventh and eight US army corps and leaving the beachheads exposed.

The possible consequences were catastrophic. She breathed out slowly, trying to steady herself and the rush of nerves and unease that threatened to overwhelm her. "Oh hell..."

One of the other intelligence officers heard her worried murmur and glanced at her notes over her shoulder. "Jesus Christ," he blurted, sotto voce, and stepped to stand by her side and re-examine her work, "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yeah," she said, her wide eyes meeting his, "Get General Taylor, tell him its urgent." The man dashed off with a quick nod her way, and she gnawed her lip in concern. It was not the reliability of the intel that concerned her; she was certain she had gotten it right, and given what she knew of the Germans' locations and strategy, it fit. Rather, it was the sheer impact of the information that had her reeling. In addition to the whole invasion potentially being overturned if Carentan was retaken, the 506th's second battalion had been about to head out towards the south west to set up defensive positions when she had left for the division headquarters. The chances of them running into the retreating Germans or getting hit by the brunt of the counterattack were enormous.

"I knew that town was too easy," she muttered to herself, flinching, rubbing her brow in agitation as panic surged through her, leaving her shaken. Could she have seen this coming? _Should_ she have? Would she have been able to stop people from getting hurt, from getting killed, if she had spent less time dallying around the aid station and worked on the decryption instead?

The agonizing thoughts came to an abrupt halt when the division's CO came marching in, looking grave. "Lieutenant," he said curtly, "How worried should I be?"

"Very," she told him frankly, not for a moment deliberating sugar coating it. Snatching up the paper, she showed it to the general, waiting as he read it and his frown deepened. She sighed. "Sir, I think we need to alert General Bradley about this."

It wasn't something she said lightly - as the commander of the entire 1st American Army, Bradley was in charge of three corps of men and two of the beaches as well as being one of the highest levels of US authority on the peninsula. He had also only recently arrived in Normandy and was likely to have better means for reinforcing the 101st than any other commander in the vicinity; all of the before considered, a potential counteroffensive of this magnitude more than demanded his attention.

Taylor didn't hesitate in agreeing with her. "I concur," he said firmly, turning to one of his men, "Ingram!"

The boy snapped to. "Sir!"

"Take Lieutenant Fairfax here to the First Army HQ," he ordered, inclining his head briefly at her, "Let's hope your boys in the 506th hold the line until we can get them some back up, lieutenant."

"Yes sir," she answered grimly, saluting swiftly. Taylor was equally quick to return it.

"Good luck."

They would need it.

* * *

She was rushed to the impressive first army base by Taylor's aide but was on her own from the moment she arrived. Wearing a man's uniform turned out to be a blessing; at first glance, at least, she didn't draw much attention to herself, keeping her helmet cocked low over her head and moving stealthily towards the main building. There were eyes boring into her back after a while - she wore a Screaming Eagle patch, after all, unlike any of the men around here, and even the baggy jacket did little to hide her figure - but no one actually tried to stop her until she reached the offices inside.

"Hey-" someone protested, shouting after her, "You can't go in-"

But she was already through and making a beeline for the man in charge. "Lieutenant General Bradley, sir?"

Bradley was a friendly looking man in his fifties and had a reputation for being polite to everyone he met, regardless of rank. At that very moment, though, he seemed mainly confused.

"I'm sorry, who are you?"

Eleanor hoped he would extend the same courtesy he was famed for to her and removed her helmet, revealing braided honey-blonde hair. "Lieutenant Fairfax, sir," she said, making her obeisances, "I'm the special liaison stationed with the 101st Airborne."

They had met before during the lead up to the invasion, albeit briefly, and she was glad to see recognition flicker in his countenance. "Ah," he nodded, "Yes, I remember you now- you were in London, weren't you?"

She smiled a bit. "Yes sir."

That seemed to do the trick. Within moments, his staff had been dismissed and he was motioning her towards another room. "Through here, if you please," he requested, and she followed him without question. The door was shut behind them before Bradley turned to her. "I take it you have some form of briefing for me."

"Yes sir," she confirmed, digging up the pieces of paper she had kept in her inner pocket the entire journey over. He took them from her with a quiet word of thanks and began to read them through.

"As you can see," she elaborated, "The reason the 101st was able to take Carentan so quickly is because the enemy had already pulled out towards the south-west. They're planning a counter attack within the next twenty-four hours."

"You're certain of this?" the general asked, eyes still intent on the documents she had given him. She grimaced. _Too damn much._

"Deadly, sir. I recognize the language - I've decrypted messages from this author before, and the intelligence has always been sound."

The elder officer folded the paper neatly, carefully, expression pensive. "But surely the 6th Fallschirmjager were already in the area."

"They were, sir, but I believe they'll be reinforced by the 17th Panzergrenadier," she reached over to point out the relevant passage, wincing minutely when the movement pulled at her wound, "Coming up from here," she indicated the area on the updated map she had given him, "And here."

Bradley clenched his jaw. "The _entire_ division?"

"Seems that way, sir," she verified, "The 101st is currently setting up defensive positions around these areas, but they're outnumbered and outgunned."

"My God," the general said, appalled, "They're light infantry, for cripsake."

She shook her head. "Sir, I don't think I have to tell you how disastrous it would be if they broke through our lines."

"You don't, lieutenant," he said, but there was no trace of scorn in his voice. He seemed to gather his thoughts for a moment before beckoning her along again, this time back out into the main conference area. "All right," he started, calling out to an aide, "Get Gerow over here."

As the soldier sped off, Eleanor's eyes were drawn to the paper's still clutched in the officer's hand. To avoid the enemy from catching wind of the Allied decrypting capabilities, all decoded messages had to be gotten rid of as soon as the pertinent people had been informed of its contents. "Sir," she hesitated, "I am to destroy-"

"Yes, of course," he said; she could practically see the wheels turning in his head. "Here, take it."

"Thank you, sir."

He turned to look at her, contemplating, almost scrutinizing. "I'm assuming you're familiar with the 101st's current positions as well as the Carentan area, correct?"

"Yes sir," she responded, not sure where this was going.

"And you've seen combat before."

_Huh. Was this ever even mentioned to him or did he deduce it himself? _"Yes, sir."

"Come with me then, please." _That_ caught her off guard. Not only had he taken her appearance and briefing in stride, now he was asking her to join him in whatever action he was about to undertake? _If only there were more like him - it would make my job so much easier!_

The assistant brought in another officer, two stars painted on the helmet he was in the process of taking off. Eleanor straightened up unconsciously.

"Lieutenant Fairfax, meet Major General Gerow," Bradley introduced her, "Leonard, this is Eleanor Fairfax with Strategic Services."

The newcomer looked her up and down skeptically; she fought the urge to do the same, instead maintaining decorum. _Come on, you've dealt with this before. His surprise isn't entirely unfounded. Play nice._ "What's a woman doing in a Screaming Eagle's uniform?" he posed, eyebrows raised, and she swallowed down a swell of vexation.

"I'm attached to their division, sir," she answered calmly, face an impassive mask. Let him think what he want. She was here to do a job and time was of the essence - she couldn't afford to get into a verbal scuffle now. _Remember, the boys are out there..._

"I see."

The man's CO, meanwhile, remained a good deal more civil. It was the difference between the two officers' attitudes that was perhaps the most grating to her. "Please tell him what you told me, lieutenant."

"Yes sir," she obliged, far friendlier than the cool impassivity she displayed towards Gerow, and briefly recounted what they had discussed before. By the time she was done, Bradley was ready to formulate his plan.

"Have Brook move the CCA to Carentan without delay for an infantry led counterattack, supported by armor," he ordered, and Eleanor racked her brain for the details of that unit. It took her a moment to make the connection. _Combat Command A. That's second armored - bring on the tanks, eh?_

"Lieutenant Fairfax will accompany them from Isigny-Sur-Mer."

And so it seemed she would be heading back into action once again; she hoped, distantly, that it would leave her more unscathed than her previous outing. She knew Isigny was about seven and a half miles to the east of Carentan and that most of the area between the two towns had been cleared. The first part of the journey at least should be relatively unexciting. Once they swung around towards the south, however- God only knew what they would find. Brief images of dead paratroopers - of dead friends - flashed before her mind, anxiety making her hands tremble, but she subdued them both quickly and compelled herself into composure.

"Sir, is that wise?" Gerow was asking, evidently still not convinced that her presence was in any way necessary. Bradley shot him a mildly unimpressed look.

"Why wouldn't it be, General?"

"Well, sir, she's-" he huffed a sigh, "She's a woman, sir."

Eleanor felt like laughing, teetering on the edge of control as it was. _What gave me away, the curves or the hair?_

"A woman who merits your respect," Bradley reprimanded, still sounding nothing but genteel, "And a soldier who has seen more of France than you have. See to it that she gets to Isigny, please."

His subordinate, though less than happy, seemed appropriately chastised. "Yes sir," he said tersely, barely able to conceal a scowl. His narrowed eyes focused on her. "Meet me outside in five minutes, lieutenant."

"Sir," she corroborated, watching him go before turning to General Bradley, who was smiling at her slightly. "Sir, I-" she paused, trying to find the right words; she rarely ever encountered such acceptance and kindness in the superior officers. "Thank you. I know you didn't have to stand up for me like that."

Bradley shook his head. "Nonsense, my dear," he assured her, "I've seen your records. Once this war is over, I'll make a point of it that others do, too."

Feeling her cheeks heat at the unexpected praise, Eleanor looked down and cleared her throat. Acceptance was one thing; overt commendation another entirely. It wasn't something she was used to, to say the least, nor something she particularly felt she deserved, but she couldn't deny it was a pleasant surprise, especially from a man who - besides being notably courteous - was famously adverse to change.

"Thank you, sir."

* * *

Locating General Brook took a lot longer than Eleanor would have liked. She spent hours forced to wait, following Gerow around, filling in at the First Army field hospital just to make herself useful, checking maps and going over intel and, for a few hours only, sleeping fitfully. The paratroopers of the 101st had grown used to having her around; the soldiers of the fifth corps, not so much, and the restless night was filled with strange encounters and trying to explain why a nurse was wearing a man's uniform. Be that as it may, there was little else she could than stay put: Brook's 2nd armored was the best hope the 101st had of reinforcements and there was nothing Eleanor would be able to do in Carentan besides telling them the painfully obvious. By morning - when Brook had finally been located and was able to pass the order on to Brigadier General Rose of the CCA - her levels of frustration and agitation were so high she could have happily punched a brick wall.

Thankfully, Rose turned out to be a good deal more agreeable than some of his colleagues. A tall cavalry veteran, he was strikingly dressed in gray jodhpurs and polished riding boots, with a tank jacket completing his singular ensemble. Perhaps more importantly, he was refreshingly no-nonsense and hands on for a general, something Eleanor appreciated after a night of lolly-gagging and partially unnecessary delays. Within seconds of their introduction, he had sized her up and was making inquiries.

"General Bradley sent you."

"Yes, sir."

"Can you handle a rifle?"

"Yes, sir."

He smiled. "Good," he said, turning to his aide, "Get the girl a gun and some gear." Nodding in approval when she locked and loaded the Thompson that was tossed at her without hesitation, he jerked a thumb towards his red plated jeep.

"You'll ride with me."

They arrived in Isigny-sur-Mer around ten am, all four people in the jeep - driver, aide and general included - all armed with sub-machine guns, and paused briefly to discuss the planned offensive. Eleanor, brought in to consult, stood by as maps were spread over the hood of the vehicle, concern for the 506th continuing to haunt her but encouraged that there was movement at last. Soon, the order to mount up was given, and the adrenaline that came with it was a welcome rush as the tanks started up their engines and took off with a mighty roar.

As Eleanor had expected the first half of the journey was uneventful; it wasn't until they came upon the 501st in the north east of town that things became exciting. Tired as they were, the paratroopers had stuck to their foxholes after having been pushed back towards town by the German onslaught. Eleanor could see Rose grow irritated by their failure to move out and, unable to find an officer at that, he'd soon had enough. Jumping out of his jeep, he began to walk down the road alone, passing by foxholes with two columns of tanks and artillery following behind, leaving the troopers staring after him in awe. It must have been a magnificent sight, almost parade-like, and Eleanor couldn't help but grin when the Brigadier finally found a company captain and called out to him firmly.

"Captain, let's get your men out of their holes and moving forward," he said, voice echoing around the troops, "We are going on the attack and I mean right now!"

That was all it took. The 501st was on the move to retake the section of Carentan they had lost to heavy enemy fire that very morning, and 2nd Armored pushed on around the town. Progress was slow and hard-pressed, but the fact that they were advancing at all was promising. Eleanor, growing restless despite the action, said her goodbyes to the remarkable general - still at the front of the attack - when a single task force of his tanks headed west to help the 506th. She hitched a ride on the back of one of the machines, keeping low and firing sporadically, counting the minutes until they swung up to the embattled second battalion at last. _Thank God._

The order was given to open fire as the tanks tore through the hedgerows, shredding the bushes in an awesome display of firepower. Cries of delighted surprise were almost drowned out by the sheer bombast of the artillery as beneath her, the machine shook and quaked with the kickback of its guns. Though she knew the battle might yet be far from over and she kept her focus in order to shoot, Eleanor could not help but feel a little triumphant at having made it; somewhere in the back of her mind, Tchaikovsky's 1812 overture echoed bizarrely as her hand tightened around her rifle.

The renewed onslaught of fire had caught the Germans off guard entirely and they scattered like roaches. It seemed they had initiated the attack and were out in the open as a result; the newly arrived troops were able to shoot just about anywhere without wasting a bullet. Yet Eleanor could tell the enemy had been darn close to breaking through the American lines. Something seemed to have diverted their armor from their original path and bought the Allies time - she suspected it might have had something to do with the conspicuously broken down stug in the middle of the field - but the Germans had pressed on relentlessly in spite of it and had been about to overrun the US position. _Talk about arriving just in the nick of time..._ _I knew I should have gotten that decryption done earlier._

She hopped off the back of the Sherman, giving the driver and machine gunner a little wave to let them know she was leaving before setting off towards Easy's position in the distance. Musette bags full of ammunition and chains of MG bullets she had mooched off 2nd Armored were slung around her shoulders; if the boys had been short on supplies before, they certainly would certainly be so after an entire day's worth of siege and could probably use the stockpile she brought with her. Crouching down, she ran towards the line, speeding up whenever she wasn't behind the relative safety of a tank. A haphazard mix of Dog and Fox company greeted her on the far end of the left flank - how _had _the two companies gotten so muddled? - and she tossed ammo at them quickly, passing them by so she could get to Easy. Appropriately enough, Welsh's first platoon was the first she spotted.

"Somebody call for the cavalry?" she called out to them, throwing herself down into one of their foxholes; four startled faces looked up at her.

"What the _hell_-" Luz exclaimed, dark eyes round as saucers. She patted him on the shoulder and offered him a new supply of rounds for his M-1.

"Don't look at me, keep your eyes on the line!" she told him simply, the thrill of battle mingling with relief at seeing them alive, remaining hunkered down between him and Perconte as they resumed their shooting. Behind them, Ralph Spina was seeing to a wounded Hoobler, who seemed to have taken some shrapnel to the leg. Looking closer, Eleanor realized they were mostly bits of splintered tree.

"You okay?" she asked the two of them, not particularly mindful of who answered. Hoob, no doubt in pain, managed to give her a tight but grateful smile whilst Spina nodded curtly, focused on wrapping his patient's leg.

"Yeah, we're good! Go!"

She was off again, running along the trenches, handing out her musette bags, checking on the wounded and disregarding shouts of surprise and, in some cases, concern. So long as she kept moving the men didn't seem to dwell on her presence too long, too preoccupied by finishing this already dragged-out battle; the moment she stopped, however, they would begin to worry over her up to the point where their attention was diverted entirely. Obviously that wouldn't do, and so she kept going for the time being. Halfway down first, she ran into their platoon leader and greeted him cheerfully.

"Holy shi-" he all but yelped, but then shook his head and resumed his duties. "Fuck, I should just stop asking, shouldn't I?"

Eleanor grinned at her friend. "Yeah, you should. You both all right?"

"Fine," Welsh answered between shots, "Liebgott?"

"I'm good, sir," he responded, eyes meeting Eleanor's momentarily, "You should check on Gordon and More, ma'am."

"Will do."

On she went, rushing through the hedgerow, intent on locating the two machine gunners Liebgott had urged her to find. Bull and Martin, though surprised, had the good sense to keep firing, but as she passed by Christenson, his machine gun fell silent.

"How'd you get here?" he exclaimed, both of them covering their heads when remnants of German artillery roared overhead.

"Look, shoot first, questions later, all right?" she told him, looking up to make sure she was clear to move; he was unhurt and very clearly didn't need the distraction.

"Yes ma'am."

He opened fire again, and she called a hasty thank you over her shoulder as she moved on to second platoon. "Gentlemen, I come bearing gifts."

Bill Guarnere seemed torn between being happy to see her and absolutely horrified to have her in the line of fire once again. "Jesus _Christ_-"

"Yeah, yeah!" she called, tiring of their continuous bewilderment and the buzz making her darkly wry, "Praise the lord and pass the ammunition, would you?"

Far be it from them to question the power of new rounds, they did as she asked while she jumped out of their hole and carried on. The fight was dying down and there were decidedly less bullets whizzing around; elated shouts went up along the line, relief palpable among the American troops. It had been a long day for all of them. Ahead, Eleanor caught sight of Dick Winters talking to a sad and somewhat lost looking Albert Blithe and let out a breath she hadn't even realized she was holding. _He's alive. He's okay._ Their eyes met for a moment, a short flash of mutual acknowledgment passing between them before he nodded at her curtly and turned back to his spooked soldier. One side of her mouth quirking up a little, she continued her search for the machine gunners.

She eventually found More and Gordon lying among the ruins of what had once been a tree, both their faces bloodied and somewhat dazedly smoking cigarettes. Crouching down besides Gordon, who seemed to be the most severely injured, she smiled at them in greeting. "Fellas."

"Hey hey, angel cake!" Gordon returned in his usual affable way, turning slightly to look at the new arrival. Beside him, More grinned up at her, all previous harshness forgotten.

"What, no horse this time, ma'am?" he quipped, holding out a Lucky Strike to her. She shook her head in declination as she began to examine his colleague.

"Nah, just hell on wheels," she said, referring to 2nd Armored's moniker and gesturing vaguely towards the tanks. More whistled reverently; it seemed that all she had needed to do to gain his unequivocal respect was bring along some arty and infantry.

"Fuckin' A."

"You're welcome," she told him, delving into her bag to find the medical supplies she needed, "Shoulder and calf, Smokey?"

He nodded in confirmation. "Yes ma'am," he responded, "But there's this boil on my shin that's hurting somethin' fierce-"

Eleanor gave a somewhat startled laugh. Here he was, bleeding from several points on his body, and yet he was complaining about a blister? _What a character..._ "You really need to work on getting your priorities straight, you know that?"

His grin was endearingly broad and unabashed. "In my defense, ma'am, I sure do."

Shaking her head in fond amusement, she turned back to More, who was starting to get up. "How are you doing?"

"Just some scratches, ma'am."

"Okay, go and find me a stretcher," she ordered, carefully pulling a piece of debris out of Gordon's shoulder. He yelped and arched upward, only to find himself restrained by her solid hold on him.

"Son of a _bitch,_ that hurts," he exclaimed, instantly looking remorseful when he realized he had sworn in front of her. It was peculiar how the men could go from brazenly cursing in her presence to being utterly hesitant about it in the blink of an eye, but such was warfare, she supposed. Smokey, for his part, smiled at her sheepishly. "Sorry, ma'am."

She patted his good shoulder consolingly; she had certainly heard a lot worse in her years around enlisted men of various nationalities. "That'll be the adrenaline wearing off," she remarked, her own levels of the stuff diminishing even as she reached for her supply of pain killers, "I'll get you some morphine, all right?"

"That'd be great, ma'am."

For a while, she just worked steadily on getting him patched up and ready to move, but she could not help but notice the broken down German tank from the corner of her eye. She had seen it before, of course, when she had first arrived on scene, but she had been too preoccupied then to give it much thought. Now, however, she wondered what had happened to it; to say stopping it had been a strategically solid and technically outstanding move would have been an understatement.

"Hey," she addressed the trooper she was looking after, "Any idea what happened to that stug over there?"

Gordon twisted his head a little to see what she was talking about, "Oh, that," he said, offhandedly, "Lieutenant Welsh and McGrath blew a bazooka round into it."

Eleanor's eyes widened. _They were bloody lucky to get a shot in like that at all and not get blown to pieces themselves._ "No kidding."

"No ma'am," Smokey smirked, "Ain't just you doing the thrilling heroics around here."

_Far from it,_ she thought, remembering the tittle-tattle around the aid station the day before, _half this regiment is made up out of the stuff of legends._

"I can see that," she agreed, spotting stretcher bearers nearby and waving them over. "Hey, over here!"

The men were swift to arrive and helped her hoist Gordon onto the canvas. "All right, up you go," she told him, squeezing his arm in farewell. He waved at her cheerfully.

"Thanks, ma'am," he called, giving her a salute as well as he could whilst lying down, "See ya back in England!"

She watched him be carried off with a smile, brightened by his perpetual good-humor. In an ideal world, she would have arrived with the proverbial cavalry sooner and saved him the pain, but at least he was alive and would recover with time. _If only everyone would be so fortunate. _Her smile faded in an instant, remorse and guilt getting the better of her once more now that the urgency of battle was fading. _If only I could have gotten here faster. _The ache in her side had settled into a dull but continuous throbbing and she had only slept a few hours since storming into Carentan on horseback the day before, but she would not let herself rest - not yet. She had vowed, after all, that she would do what she could to aid the men of the 506th, and after failing to keep them from harm earlier that day, looking after their wounded despite her own exhaustion felt like a penitence of sorts. In her mind, it was no more than she deserved.

Inhaling sharply, she set off to work. _For_ _I have promises to keep, and many more miles to go before I sleep..._

_

* * *

_

"Lieutenant Fairfax!"

Head snapping up, the woman in question turned away from the medics she had been talking to, dismissing them with a quick gesture of her hand, and came face to face with 2nd battalion's commander. "Colonel Strayer, sir," she greeted him, snapping to until he returned her salute and she was able to nod at the man besides him, "Lieutenant Nixon."

Strayer was looking at her quizzically. "How on earth did you end up with 2nd Armored, lieutenant?"

She smiled wearily, not at all feeling up to explaining the exact reasons right then and there. "It's a long story, sir," she said instead, hoping it would be enough for him. To her relief, it seemed to be.

"I bet," he said, a little dismissive, looking around as though searching for someone, "Who am I wanting to thank here?"

"That'd be Brigadier General Rose of the CCA, sir," she answered, "I think I saw him heading over that-a-way earlier."

The colonel nodded and glanced at his watch. "Thank you. We're headed to Carentan for the night. I'm assuming you're coming with us, lieutenant."

"Yes sir," she affirmed, "R&R?"

"Until further notice, yes."

_Thank God for that. _She doubted she could take any more action any time soon; the lack of sleep was beginning to take its toll and coffee could only keep a person going for so long. Strayer, meanwhile, was gesturing at Nixon to come along with him, no doubt to get the battalion organized and ready to move. The intelligence officer glanced at her briefly, his expression clearly telling her _you look terrible and please look after yourself, _and inclined his head before heading after his CO.

Sighing, she rummaged through her bag to take stock of her supplies, jumping a little when a voice called her name. _Christ, I must be really tired if Dick Winters manages to startle me like that..._

"Dick, hey," she said, smiling at him fleetingly; she had already seen him from afar earlier so she knew he was all right, if one chose to disregard his ongoing limp. She continued her inventory undisturbed. "We're getting the wounded back to Carentan, criticals first-"

Out of nowhere, he was holding her hand and dragging her along to a deserted area. "What-" she stammered, caught off guard, looking up at him wide-eyed when he halted as brusquely as he had set off and twisted her in front of him. This abruptness was very unlike him and she instantly worried about what could be wrong; his expression was unreadable, blue eyes searching hers until he wrapped his arms around her and crushed her against him. Initially, she was too shocked to respond, his embrace so tight she could barely breathe.

"What-" she repeated eventually, managing to pull back a little, her back arching around his arm, "What's wrong?"

"You scared the hell out of me," he admitted quietly, hold not loosening an inch as he shook his head. "Again."

Her mouth formed a wordless 'oh'. "Sorry?" she offered lamely; the thought hadn't even occurred to her, caught up in her own concerns as she had been, but it actually made sense. She supposed the other being in danger was something they would have to get used to eventually - and since when had there been a _they_ to begin with? - but for now all she could fathom to do was cradling his face in her hands, smiling when he nudged into her touch. _He really was scared. _He returned the smile slowly, eyes crinkling as he breathed out sharply. Relief mingled with affection, their lips inches apart. Her heart sped up; it would be so easy to kiss him- so easy to tilt her head back and just give in-

"Lieutenant?"

Both of them pulled back simultaneously at the dim call, muttering apologies and excuses. Winters, clearing his throat, was the first to speak. "I, uh- I'll see you back in town?"

She nodded vaguely; he was gone in the blink of an eye, and it seemed as if the whole thing had never happened. "Yeah..." she whispered, running a hand through her hair distractedly, "Town."

* * *

The moment the exhausted operative arrived back in Carentan, she was greeted by a whirlwind of brown hair and probing hands. "Lieutenant!"

"Whoa," she called, holding up her hands as if to protest her innocence; it was only after a second that she recognized the nurse who had flown at her in concern. "Evelyn, hey, it's all right."

"We were so worried! Where on earth have you been?" the younger woman scolded, adding a hasty 'ma'am' when her superior raised an eyebrow at her. Their chief had of course told them she had been requested to stop by at the divisional headquarters, but when she had been gone for the entire night and day, the team had started to become troubled by her absence.

Eleanor, already feeling horrible over her inability to predict the German counterattack on time and her earlier discernment that she had been remiss in her care of the nurses coming back to her, bit her lip guiltily. She should have sent word, somehow, should have let them know- but then how could she have given the situation?

"I'm sorry I frightened you," she said sincerely, shaking her head, "I was trying to make sure the regiment didn't get blown to smithereens."

"The German offensive?" Evelyn asked, countenance softening in understanding when her CO affirmed that it was. "It's all right, ma'am, you must have been pretty swamped."

"Yeah," Eleanor agreed, smiling faintly before looking around the direct vicinity. There were stretchers and wounded men everywhere, surgeons and medics scurrying among them; the defense of Carentan had been costly. "How are we doing here?"

"We're okay," the nurse told her, following as she headed to one of the trucks that had been commissioned to transport the wounded from the front back to the battalion aid station, "We're getting ready to evacuate the first group further down the line."

"Good," Eleanor nodded, climbing aboard the deuce, "Come on, give me a hand."

"Ma'am, you should rest-" Evelyn protested, noticing how tired her friend looked, but she was cut off instantly.

"Not while we still have people to take care of, I don't," came the terse response as Eleanor helped to lower the stretcher carrying Hoobler from the rig, ignoring his amiable attempts at conversation when she jumped down beside him. With the help of a couple of stretcher bearers, she had him inside in a moment, ready to be treated.

"Shrapnel to the leg," she stated, grabbing hold of the nearest member of her team, "Annie, look after him."

"You're not staying with me, LT?" Hoobler asked, obviously hoping that she would. She merely shook her head.

"Can't."

"Aw, c'mon!" He was damn near pouting, and Eleanor had to remind herself to stop being so short no matter how tired she was. _What's the point of staying if you're just going to jump down everyone's throat? _She mustered a smile. "I'll be back, Hoobs."

Asking Maria to check up on Gordon and ordering Judy to get Skinny to the walking wounded section, the world was starting to become a blur as her fatigue finally caught up with her. It was never a good sign when things were starting to look funny. She was on the verge of deciding to rest when she detected someone she hadn't expected nearby.

"Tab?" she frowned, puzzled. As far as she was aware, he hadn't been among the wounded being taken off the field earlier, but then what _had_ happened to him?

"Ellie!" he acknowledged her happily, the extreme merriment in his voice and the way he slurred his words just a little letting her know he was probably on morphine already, "How you doin'?"

"Doing great," she said, bemused, addressing Betty in a low voice when she saw her come over. "What the hell happened to him?"

"He's one of the evacuees," her second in commanded remarked vaguely, absorbed by the chart she was working on. Eleanor glanced at the paper inquisitively.

"Bayonet wound?" she asked aloud, utterly confused, "Easy hasn't had any close combat in days."

Betty met her eyes above the records. "Er," she began, hesitating briefly, "Friendly fire, as it were."

"Dear God!" Eleanor gaped, looking between Betty and the wounded trooper, "How-"

"Apparently, Sergeant Talbert was wearing his poncho while checking the lines," Betty was quick to explain, and Eleanor instantly recalled the German foul weather gear Talbert had so proudly shown off not a few days ago. Could it be that someone had mistaken him for the enemy?

"Hey!" Tab protested, wagging a finger in what he must have thought was a stern manner but failing spectacularly, "It was raining!"

"Sure," Betty said, smiling with an almost maternal indulgence, "It was also dark, and Private Smith mistook him for a German."

"Shoulda shot the kid when I had the chance."

Given that Talbert appeared mostly fine and the whole thing was so silly it was almost hysterical, Eleanor read the rest of the chart only cursorily. "He missed all vital organs?"

"Yes ma'am."

"You're one lucky guy, Tab," she told the sergeant, patting his arm with a weary smile before turning to Betty. "Could you get me some coffee, Bets?"

Betty, in turn, eyed her warily. "Are you sure sleep isn't a better idea?"

"The coffee, if you please," the first lieutenant repeated, tone indicating it was an order this time, and Betty went off to retrieve some with a long suffering shake of her head. Deciding some fresh air might do her good, Eleanor wandered outside and looked around the small square in front of the aid station, smiling at the sight of the men lazing about, sharing cigarettes, souvenirs and stories. She was about to head over to the mortar teams when she spotted the old, banged up piano standing abandoned amongst the ruins of the city. It had caught her eye before; there were bullet holes riddled through it and it looked like it hadn't been serviced in decades, but she could not help but wonder if she'd still be able to draw a tune out of it. She had been hesitant to try it before, but in her tiredness, she couldn't be bothered to worry about it. There was so little music in this world of war; a few notes might just make her feel better.

Ambling over, she touched one of the keys experimentally, eyebrows shooting up when a note rung out. She tried another, and another; while the instrument had certainly seen better days and more than a few of the keys were missing, it was serviceable. Those closest to her looked up in surprise at the tentative sounds but let her be, exchanging glances when she sat down precariously on the damaged seat. They had stopped attempting to figure her out after she had swept in among their ranks earlier that day, both because they were too tired to bother and because they knew better than to try by now. Regardless, it wouldn't hurt to keep an eye on her.

She let her fingers weave over the keyboard, brows lightly furrowed in concentration as she worked her way through part of an old cantata. After years of piano lessons, it came almost as easy as breathing. Every once in a while a note would fail, but the melody was clear enough and a strangely lovely sound in an otherwise wracked setting. Curiosity piqued, some of the men came over to listen, others choosing to remain where they were, staring up at the sky in silence.

"Whatcha playing, lieutenant?" Ramirez's voice asked and she raised her eyes to see him leaning over the top of the piano, watching her hands move with obvious intrigue.

"Bach," she answered plainly, wincing a little when she reached an absent note. Further away, Malarkey was distracted from his quest to steal Skip's cigarette long enough to notice her reply and acknowledge it.

"Hey, wasn't he German?"

Eleanor didn't even have the time to respond; an indignant ripple ran through the entire crowd, and soon the boys were clamoring for a change of tune.

"Enough of that Kraut crap, Ellie!" Perconte hollered, "Play us something American-like!"

By his side, Dukeman was grinning. "Yeah, a little patriotism goes a long way, LT."

She knew a challenge when she heard one and halted mid-movement to sketch an impromptu _Hail To The Chief. _Laughter went up around the square and she smiled, raising an amused eyebrow at her friends. "Better?"

Whoops mingled with the laughter. "Hell yeah!"

Shaking her head, she finished the Yankee refrain. It was good to hear the boys laughing, to provide this tiny bit of happiness. "Any other requests?"

Several suggestions were shouted out, but then Luz somehow - how did he ever do anything? - managed to shush the entire group and turned to her, batting his eyelashes exaggeratedly. "Play it once, Ellie," he said, smirking when he saw her frown in confusion, "For old time's sake."

She got what he was getting at now and chuckled, recalling the film he was alluding to. It was one of the pictures they had shown at the base in Aldbourne, one that she had watched with Luz at the time; for once, they had both been enraptured by the screen and he had kept his mouth mostly shut. The men were grinning fondly at their company clown as they, too, got the reference. "Ha, Luz."

Eleanor decided to play along. "Why, I don't know what you mean, George."

Luz gave his best Ingrid Bergman imitation, smiling her mysterious little half-smile and murmuring in her husky voice. "Play it, Ellie. Play 'As Time Goes By'!"

"Well, I'm a little rusty on it, but..." She played the opening keys to cheers of approval. Above the din, Luz managed to make himself heard. "Sing it, Eleanor!"

She smiled and obliged him, crooning along quietly. "You must remember this, a kiss is just a kiss..."

An inexplicable shiver ran down her spine and though she continued the song as if nothing had happened, she found herself frowning, eyes automatically drawn to the nearby arches. Leaning against them was Dick Winters, watching her closely, a faint smile toying at the edges of his mouth. Her pale cheeks reddened a little but, knowing both of them would catch hell if the men found them staring at each other like that, she was determined not to let it show. "The world will always welcome lovers as time goes by..."

She ended the song with a flourish, getting up to give a little mock bow as the boys cheered and applauded. Winters had since disappeared from his spot near the arches, but Betty - conspicuously sans coffee - had taken his place and Eleanor walked the small distance, raising an eyebrow at her friend.

"Whatever happened to coffee, Bets?"

The other woman's smile was just a little roguish. "Sorry, ma'am," she said innocently, "Lieutenant Winters commandeered it."

_I'm sorry, he did what now? _For a few long moments, Eleanor could only stare at her subordinate, taken aback by her disobedience - no matter how small - though it was hardly the actual defiance that annoyed her. Dusk was falling rapidly and Eleanor's exhaustion was starting to catch up with her as quickly; if she didn't get her boost of caffeine soon, she was likely to fall down, stubborn refusal to rest and had to admit it was a really rather cunning way of coercing her to rest, but she was still ticked off when a smiling Winters appeared from the shadows, empty cup in hand. She'd never seen him look so positively smug.

"Betty..." she growled, but the nurse only shrugged.

"Hey, he might not be my CO, but he still outranks me," she said, already moving away, "Don't worry, we'll take care of things around here. Sleep well, ma'am!"

"I could really use a cup!" Eleanor called after her in a futile attempt to get it anyway, glaring at Winters when he chuckled.

"No more coffee for you," he said warmly, glancing around quickly to make sure nobody could see them before reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She wrinkled her nose.

"It helps with the narcolepsy."

"Doesn't help with the sleeping."

_Oh, for crying out loud. _"Who said anything about sleeping?" she complained, "They need me out he-" Right in that moment, her own body betrayed her and she was unable to fight back a yawn. Winters shook his head.

"You heard what Edwards said," he remarked, beginning to steer her towards the building the nurses had set up their quarters in, "She'll take care of it. Trust your team, Ellie. You need to sleep."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm fine."

"You've had how many hours in the past three, maybe four days?" She honestly couldn't remember, and so shut her mouth without replying. He smiled knowingly and ushered her into the building. Before she had even fully realized what was going on, they were standing in one of the bedrooms. "That's what I thought," he continued, shutting the curtains, "And in case you've forgotten, you were wounded, too."

"So were you," she retorted, gazing at his leg, "I should look at that-"

"No," he declared, firmly, pulling back the blankets from an abandoned bed and looking at her expectantly. Making a disgusted little sound, she stripped off her jacket and boots before lying down on the mattress, letting him tuck her in; for once, she didn't protest, sleep pulling at her relentlessly already.

Winters, crouching down beside her, smoothed out her hair as her eyes slowly fluttered close. He was about to get up and leave when she called out to him. "'s everyone all right?" she murmured drowsily, voice plaintive. Smiling softly, he bent down and pressed a kiss to her temple, infinitely tender. "Yeah, Ellie," he whispered reassuringly, "We're all right."

* * *

She woke up early the next morning, perhaps an hour or so after dawn, to find her body aching and the whole of her still weary, though she felt undeniably better. Crawling out of bed, she tried the shower only to find it broken and washed her face under the tap instead before making her rounds around the house to check in on the sleeping girls. Downstairs, she came upon Katie listening to the wireless in the back room.

"I'm gonna get some air," she told her once she had established the girl was all right, "Call me if you need me, okay?"

The nurse nodded her head with a faint smile. "You should try and get some more sleep, ma'am."

"I'm all right," Eleanor reassured her, smiling at the unconvinced look she received in return, "Really. Make sure you check on the men in a bit."

Closing the door behind her and breathing in the morning air, she spotted Harry Welsh slumped against one of the columns up ahead and was forced to bring up her hand quickly to stifle a laugh. It seemed as though he had quite literally fallen asleep where he had sat down; he was curled up limply, Zippo cocked in his hand and cigarette dangling from his lips, both items unlit. He must have been exhausted to have passed out like that, and although she knew he would dislike her for even thinking as much, she couldn't help but find the sight of him dozing all together adorable. Smiling, she sidestepped him carefully as she passed him by, deciding to leave him be for now and find some breakfast.

"Hey there, beautiful," he murmured suddenly, catching her off guard and making her spin back around with a frown, tilting her head to look at him. He hadn't opened his eyes, but he was most definitely aware of her standing there.

"Hey yourself," she replied, moving back towards him, "I thought you were asleep."

A smile played at the edge of his mouth. "I was, until a certain someone decided to stomp by." One eye was opened, lazily, peering up at her as he patted the ground beside him in a silent invitation for her to sit. She sat down with a fond chuckle, grimacing at the tug in her side when she folded her legs beneath her. By the time she was seated his eyes had closed again.

"How are you doing, kid?"

She considered that for a moment, thinking back to the past forty-eight hours. Between the capture of Carentan and the German counterattack, it had been an intense few days, and half night worth of sleep wasn't anywhere near enough. "I'm okay," she sighed, rubbing a hand across her brow wearily, "Tired, though."

Welsh huffed a laugh. "Join the club."

"Yeah," she smiled, supposing that the same could be said for most of the men and women around the town. In the distance, she could hear the rumbling of a tank driving by and suddenly recalled what Smokey Gordon had told her the day before. She nudged Harry to regain his attention. "Rumor has it you took out a tank."

His grin grew brazen, eyes remaining shut as he shrugged, the very picture of nonchalance. "Eh," he said flippantly, as though he hadn't all but single-handedly stopped the German advance in its tracks, "Nothing too exciting, really."

"Given that it was maybe your third suicidal move of the day, sure."

Eleanor lifted her head to see Dick Winters hobbling over, face as dirt-streaked as Welsh's but generally looking better rested than when she had last seen him. As good as it was to have him near, however, she didn't like the way he continued to limp, nor was she particularly wild about these supposed self-destructive actions he was talking about. "Suicidal moves?" she echoed back, looking between her two friends with narrowed eyes, "_Three_ of them?"

Winters smiled as he lowered himself besides Welsh a little awkwardly. His slight wince didn't escape her notice. "Well, there was that potato masher he lobbed over a building-"

"He did _what_?"

"You'd rather Luz and I got blown to pieces?" Harry asked her, somewhat exasperated, cutting her off before she even had the chance to open her mouth to protest further, "Didn't think so." In all truth, it _was_ a heroic move born of a snap-second decision that had probably saved both of their lives. On that particular occasion, it had been the right choice to make, no matter how dangerous, and as much as it perturbed her to know how close he had come to getting hurt, she could hardly object - and he was well aware of it. "'Sides, Dick's really not one to talk," he added, "How's the leg, anyway?"

"Stiff," the redhead admitted, "Sore. They want me to take it easy for a few days."

_Maybe you should listen to them, you fool. _The nurse among their small party shook her head, marveling once again how such a stubborn group of people managed to make it through combat at all. This was not exactly the first time Winters had been urged to rest up and let his leg heal, but then one also had to admire his insistence on leading his men wherever they went.

"Yeah, you should," Welsh drawled in response, knowing Eleanor would agree with the sentiment but asking for her confirmation anyway just to annoy her and amuse himself. She gave it readily, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at Dick that had him lowering his gaze repentantly. Her expression softened.

"C'mere," she bade him gently, "I'll have a look at it."

He let her move his leg into her lap without complaint, watching intently as she began to remove his footwear with caution. Next to them, Welsh smirked, flashing gapped teeth. "What are you going to do, kiss it better?" he ribbed her, grousing when she swatted at him but giggling triumphantly all the same. Not only had he succeeded in creating a situation to tease them about - both their cheeks were already coloring - but he had also inevitably brought them closer together; he was a scheming little thing sometimes. "Fussy as a mother hen..." he tutted, toying idly with his lighter. Eleanor rolled her eyes, too worn out to make much of a fuss.

"Shut up," she told him lightly, pulling off the boot she had unlaced, "Someone has to be."

"I think Lipton may be giving you a run for your money there," Winters remarked warmly, but the three of them fell silent as they remembered that the mild sergeant had been wounded during the assault and had since disappeared out of their lives. He hadn't been the only one - the company numbers were dwindling rapidly, and they were uncertain of many of the men's fates.

"He'll be okay," Eleanor said softly, trying to reassure the two officers, "It wasn't too bad of a wound." Yet none of them could deny that he had been one of the lucky few who would make a full and hopefully relatively speedy recovery; there were dozens more who would not.

Their momentary lapse into gloominess was lifted when Winters inhaled sharply. Eleanor, her fingers still skimming his skin as she raised his trouser leg, shot him an apologetic look. His lips quirked up a little before he continued the breakfast he had brought with him.

"I talked to Colonel Sink," he commented around bites of food, "Said he appreciated Easy holding the line. Said General Taylor was pleased."

_Given that Easy was more or less all that stood between the Germans and their planned recapture of the beach heads, he'd better be, _Eleanor thought, removing the bandage Gene Roe had put on Winters' leg earlier. Her brows furrowed in consternation at the red stains that had appeared on the material.

Welsh made a little sound at the back of his throat, smiling lopsidedly. "That's why I came to France," he said wryly, finally opening his eyes, "To please General Taylor."

"Yeah," Dick agreed ruefully, jumping up slightly when Eleanor uncovered the wound and began examining it. "Ow!"

"Seems like you've aggravated it," she noted, peeved; it was really no surprise, given how much running around and dodging bullets he'd been doing, but she wasn't particularly pleased about it either. She breathed out slowly. The fact that Welsh had tried to play doctor before taking his friend to an aid station hadn't exactly been beneficial either, and she wasn't about to let him live it down.

"You know, because trying to dig the bullet out with a damn trench knife wasn't bad enough to begin with..."

"Christ, I get it, all right?" Harry declared, getting around to lighting his smoke at last, "Next time I'll holler for you first."

"You'd better," she threatened, grabbing hold of Dick's leg more firmly when he tried to squirm away. Honestly, the lot of them were such children sometimes. "Oh, sit still," she chided him, squeezing his foot resolutely, "You're lucky it isn't infected, but it'll need a stitch or two."

Rummaging through her bag, she dug up a suturing kit and antiseptic, dousing a piece of cotton with the stuff before dabbing the nick delicately. Absorbed by her work as she was, she only became aware of Lew Nixon ambling over when Harry half-shouted an acknowledgment at him.

"Lewis! Come to join us mere mortals?"

"The Greeks got some stuff right, y'know," he observed drily, gaze drawn towards Eleanor when she alone chuckled at the subtle reference. "Hey, shouldn't you be working?"

"Come on, Nix," she answered, mildly amused that he apparently didn't consider patching up a company commander a part of her job, "Can't a girl take a break? I've earned my wages and _then_ some."

_Never mind that my own heedlessness nearly killed you all, I've managed to neglect my nurses and I can never do everything I should be doing..._

She felt Winters flinch when she finished cleaning the cut and threaded a needle. Pressing her lips together, she hesitated, looking up at him, their eyes meeting. "I'm sorry, we're low on painkillers."

"It's okay," he reassured her, though his smile was a little taut, "Just get me back on my feet."

Grasping the needle tightly - she couldn't let her hands shake, not now, had to pretend he was any other patient and she wasn't about to stitch through his skin without anesthetic - she began the ghastly task in silence, zoning out Harry and Lew's chatter and focusing solely on making the sutures as neat and even as she could. When she was done, her fingers remained on his ankle, absentmindedly kneading circles on the joint.

"It really would be better if you take it easy for a bit," she commented, barely aware that he had unintentionally moved closer to her as well. It was a very minor wound and she knew, rationally speaking, that he was all right, but the past few days had stirred up old fears and insecurities, not least of which the continuous sense of not being able to do enough. If she couldn't even keep her best friends from harm, then what _could_ she do?

"I imagine we're off the line for a while," Harry piped up, "Probably getting on a boat soon." He turned to Winters expectantly, as if waiting for him to corroborate it. "That's what the colonel said, right?"

The tall lieutenant blinked, eyes drawn away from their quiet study of Eleanor and towards his fellow officer, "Next few days should be quiet," he said, shaking his head, "Beyond that..."

Welsh sighed. "Three days and three nights, my homesick ass."

"Hey, I'll take what I can get," Eleanor shrugged, knowing so much as a few hours off the line could make a massive difference. Still, Welsh was right in that Taylor hadn't kept his initial, fairly optimistic promise of getting the troopers back to England after only a few days; in fact, it seemed like it might be a long while until they did, if they got back at all. She turned to Nixon. "Am I right in thinking you'll be stuck here for a while longer?"

A pair of heavy eyebrows were raised at her. "You're the one who's all buddy-buddy with division. You tell us."

She hummed thoughtfully, considering what she knew of enemy movement and reserves as she tied a new bandage around Dick's leg. The initial shock and awe of the invasion were wearing off and the Germans were turning out to be tenacious; until further reserves could be brought in, it seemed the 101st would be stuck in Normandy despite their major strength being rapid assaults behind enemy lines. "You've proven your worth, even when understaffed and overworked," she observed, "It wouldn't be easy to replace you."

"All of which by way of saying we _will_ be here for a while," Welsh groaned as the other two exchanged weary glances, "Fantastic."

Giving the three of them a sympathetic look, Eleanor patted Winters' foot before lifting it out of her lap and getting up. She had spotted Brigadier General Rose in the distance and wanted to talk to him before he disappeared off again. "Right, gentlemen, I'll leave you three to your own devices."

Winters looked up at her, blue eyes concerned. "Ellie, you _are_ going to get some more sleep, aren't you?"

"Tried, failed," she said curtly, smiling at him when she realized she was being unnecessarily snappish. _And I thought I was meant to be the mother hen. _"Besides, I need to debrief with General Rose first."

Nixon, screwing his flask shut after taking a swig of his beloved Vat 69, frowned in confusion. "I know you hitched a ride with him and all, but why would you-" Suddenly, comprehension dawning, his eyes widened to almost comical proportions. "No! You brought them in?"

Eleanor grinned down at him, the slightest bit pleased. _Perhaps, just maybe, I can get some stuff right after all. _"How else did you think I found them?" she asked rhetorically, winking at her flabbergasted friends and remembering a long-ago promise to them as her hand came up to touch the silk at her throat unthinkingly.

"Merry belated Christmas, fellas."

* * *

**Happy new year, everyone! I hope your holidays have been as lovely as my own.**

**Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed, and a hearty welcome to all the new readers. It means the world to me to know you're enjoying the story and that it's still being read by people who hadn't started it before; I've received the most wonderful comments about Ellie and cannot begin to tell you how glad I am you seem to like her! **

**There's only one more Normandy chapter to go after this - I seem to favour epic-sized updates these days, as I'm sure you can tell - but there's some solid romantic development(s) to look forward to. I know, I know, it's about time... :)**


	19. Somewhere In France With You

**Disclaimer: this story is based chiefly on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.**

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* * *

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_Innocence is a fragile thing, _Eleanor reflected, cradling a too-thin toddler that one of the local women had all but thrown at her with a desperate plea for help. Across the square, the second battalion of the 506th was preparing to move out again, men shuffling about and slinging on gear as the officers shouted instructions and prompts for them to get a move on already. She watched them from afar, a hand wrapped protectively around the child's delicate head, humming to him quietly to keep him calm. Her eyes met Richard Winters', their gazes connecting for a moment; his previously blank expression softened, formed into a small smile, and he inclined his head to her slightly before putting on his helmet. Returning the gesture, she winced when the infant began to cry in response to the noise of the men leaving, rocking him gently and voice lilting into a lullaby.

"Rock-a-bye baby, in the tree top..."

The soldiers took no notice of her standing there, trying to comfort a crying child born to war and orphaned by strife, failing to soothe the empty ache and constant worry warring in her own heart. They had their own concerns, and rightly so. It was not without a stab of melancholy that she remembered the young, eager boys she had first met - boys with guns, of course, but boys none the less - and contemplated the weary, experienced men before her now. War had forced them to grow up. She saw in their eyes now what she had seen in the mirror many times: the lingering sadness in their eyes, the memories hidden away just beneath the surface. It was something she had never wanted to witness, and yet here they were.

"When the wind blows, the cradle will rock..."

Looking up, she could tell that the sun was already beginning to set, slowly fading into dusk. Midsummer had come and gone, the fires of war a strange mockery of the bonfires of yore, the long light of the sweltering summer days reaching a crescendo and dying down again. It was as though the shortening of days was a turning point, as if the lengthening darkness was an omen, nature's way of saying _you have made it thus far, but winter is coming and bad things are headed your way. _She thought back to Aldbourne - lush, unspoiled, beautiful Aldbourne - and the long days of training and friendship there, and knew they could never go back. Physically, perhaps, but things would never be the way they had been before.

"When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall..."

In a strange way, it reminded her of her own youth. Once, when she was young and the world had yet been at peace, Eleanor and her family would spent their summers in the French countryside, enjoying time together and away from the city. A diplomat's refuge, her father had called it with a smile, sitting under a parasol with his wife and watching his children play at the fountain nearby. For her part, Eleanor remembered the old ivy-covered chateau - more of a mansion than an actual castle - with a wistful sort of fondness, recalling the heady summer days when all she had needed to do in life was love her family and learn her lessons. There would be lunches stretching into dinners as, in true French fashion, the grownups sat around the table and chatted languidly while the children frolicked in the garden, playing games of pétanque on the lawn and drinking lemonade served in the orchard. Sometimes, when no one was looking, she would sneak out after dessert and run to the lavender fields surrounding the property, the scent of the flowers staining her hands as she ran them through the shrubs and watched the first of the stars appearing overhead. In those few blessed seasons, all furtiveness had meant was escaping and returning without her parents noticing.

Of course, what she had not known at the time was that her father had been sick even then, had indeed been advised to take sojourns in the country to get away from the heavy fumes of the Parisian streets. To Eleanor, they had been slow, wonderful times where nothing was of consequence and yet everything of import; times she would keep close to her heart forever. She tried not to think too much of what had come after, when summer had faded into fall and everything had changed. These days it was more than likely that the Germans or the Vichy regime had taken over the house, as they did with so many estates. She imagined Aldbourne was much the same for the men and women of the 506th; a distant memory, untouched, untarnished, pristine and forever warm in their minds. In many ways, a place where they had left their innocence behind and weren't sure when they would return to - if they would return at all.

Slowly, the ruckus faded away until that was left was the wind tugging at her hair and sweeping up the dust, carrying away the words of her song.

"And down will come baby, cradle and all."

* * *

It had now been well over three weeks since the invasion of France had begun and two since Carentan had been taken decisively for the Allies. Having fought hard to keep the town from being recaptured, the regiment had dug in around the southern border of the city to see to its defenses. Artillery barrages were ceaseless on either side, but the situation was fairly static overall; the men mostly stayed in their foxholes, only venturing out for patrols and to repel enemy attacks. They ate, slept and generally lived outdoors, and though not the most pleasant of circumstances, it was certainly a lot quieter than the intensity of their first week in Normandy.

Eleanor remained busy. Like she had found out long ago, when she had been sipping the last of the summer wine in the south and her father - returned to work up north - had succumbed to illness at last, she could not be everywhere she wanted to be at once. Had she had two or three duplicates of herself, she might have been able to hold every dying soldier's hand, might have been capable of processing and checking all incoming intelligence herself and look after her girls while she was at it, but as it was, she was limited to being as many places as she reasonably could within the span of a day. She made a point of spending as much of the day with her girls as she could and dropping by the boys under the cover of night. Sleep was a luxury; the aid station had been morphed into the regimental field hospital and clearing terminal, tripling in size and only increasing the workload. Between the nursing and intelligence work - be it scouting, deciphering or couriering - there was always something to be done, some task that needed to be carried out.

What was worse than the lack of sleep and abundance of work, however, was the fact that her unit was chronically undersupplied. New material would come in every once in a while, especially now that the beach heads had been properly secured, but stocks would run out so quickly it was almost impossible to keep up. Bandages, identification tags, even morphine, they all disappeared as surely as the sun set - ever earlier - in the evenings, and much faster than she cared for at that.

Walking down the infirmary, a pencil stuck thoughtfully between her teeth, she found herself going over supply lists once again, trying to make ends meet. She'd heard that the larger hospitals down the line were faring far better and wondered if she should see if she could cadge some of their stuff. It wasn't ideal, but she'd had to use pantyhose as tourniquets before and wasn't wild about the prospect of having to repeat that experience.

Unexpectedly, a voice called out to her. "Eleanor, my love!"

She frowned. On first guess it sounded like Dick, but there was something off about the deep rumble of the words, never mind the way of address. A smile crept its way onto her face as she turned around.

"Hey Luz."

Propped up on his elbows several cots away was George Luz, smile broad and eyes cheeky. He had always been stellar at imitating people, but this was the first time he had dared emulate Winters in front of her. Usually he just stuck to making his fellow soldiers laugh, using humor to alleviate stress and boost morale. It was a trait she admired deeply; Winters, Welsh and Compton were all excellent officers, but it was the likes of Luz and Lipton who kept the men grounded and together. Unfortunately, it seemed being wounded was another thing the two sergeants currently had in common.

"The one and only," Luz rejoined, grin growing sly as she ambled over, "Unless you'd prefer the good lieutenant, of course."

She chuckled, putting down the clipboard to examine the wound on his leg. "Funny," she said wryly, checking the bandages carefully, "When'd you get hit?"

"This morning," he shrugged, watching her work, "Ain't nothin' but a scrape, darlin'. Don't you go worryin' none."

"Hm," she said vaguely, not really paying attention to his exaggerated drawl. It wasn't a deep wound but probably hurt like hell all the same; the bandaging was good, neat. He'd probably be driven down to one of the hospitals near the beaches soon.

"About time, really," he muttered, and she was so engrossed in her work that she barely caught it; but there was something decidedly off about his tone and the way he suddenly went strangely still, and it was impossible not to notice the change. Lifting her head, she found him staring into the distance a little blankly, alarm bells immediately going off in her head at the sight of it.

"'Scuse me?"

He blinked, owlishly, as if he were coming out of a daze. "Nothing," he smiled, but it was affected this time and didn't reach his eyes, "About time you and Lieutenant Winters announce your engagement. I'd _better_ get an invite to the wedding-"

"Luz," she protested, shaking her head. Something was bothering him, that much was obvious.

"Although I guess I'll have to fight off Lieutenant Welsh over who gets to be ring bearer-" he went on as if she had never even spoken, only breaking off when her steady gaze became too much to bear. He sighed. "You're not letting go of it, are you?"

"When have you ever known me to?" she smiled softly, resting her hand on his knee and squeezing it gently. "What's on your mind, George?"

"It's just-" he began, faltered, swallowing and wetting his lips, "I had it coming, didn't I? Running around like I own the goddamn world. Making stupid jokes. We've still got guys missing, for Christ's sake."

_Ah._ She pressed her lips together in understanding but kept quiet. Like her, the men were fine while kept preoccupied by combat, but once they slowed down they had time to think - to _over_ think - and agonize over what they had seen and done. It seemed George Luz, for all his bravado and good humor, was no exception.

"Meehan and HQ are gone, Salty Harris got hit on the way down, Tipper's fucked- and Cobb-"

He met her eyes, looking at her wretchedly; she remembered hearing that Cobb had been hit on the plane before he even had the chance to jump, but she wondered why Luz would bring it up now. It wouldn't be long before she received her answer. "Ellie, we switched places before take off. I was meant to be in that spot, and yet here I am, almost blowing whole fucking families to kingdom come-"

Averting his gaze, he coughed in a vain attempt to conceal how upset he was. Her fingers tightened around his knee, heart aching in compassion when he looked up at her and smiled weakly. "Toccoa feels like a lifetime ago, y'know?"

"Yeah," she agreed quietly, "It's been a long few weeks, hasn't it?" She exhaled slowly, choosing her words carefully. "But Luz, think about the guys that _did_ survive. Toye and Popeye, Tab and Lip. Who's gonna keep their spirits up if not you, huh? Who's gonna keep them smiling?"

It was a low blow to remind him of the fellas, but she knew he could not allow himself to break, even if she highly doubted he would in the first place. Luz was meant to be the perpetually cheerful one; the others relied on him to be as much. Where they to see him like this, the results could be disastrous. Fear and doubt spread like wildfire around this place and God only knew where that would get them. She grimaced minutely, careful to hide it from him. _A double edged sword indeed. _

"They need you, as much as they need Winters and Doc Roe and all the others."

"But what if I'm not enough?"

_Can any of us ever really be enough? Hell, what does 'enough' even mean? _"The best we can do is try," she said, disregarding the fact she was about to give out a piece of advise she would have probably done well to take for her own , "No one is expecting you to do more, so stop expecting more from yourself."

"Yeah," he responded, pensively, reaching out to squeeze her hand, "Thanks, Elle."

"Good!" she declared, determined to get him back to his own bright self again, "Now hang tough, we'll get you out of here."

He brightened and sniggered as she had wanted him to, but the cause for his mirth wasn't exactly what she had planned it to be. "Jesus," he remarked, "You're even starting to sound like him."

_The cheeky bastard. _She hadn't even realized she had used Winters' famous line, but it was hard to deny she had now. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said instead, picking up her chart and busying herself by looking at it.

"Sure you don't," Luz smirked, "And you're definitely not blushing either."

She watched him, saw the old spark back in his eyes, and decided her job was done. He must be feeling better if he was cracking jokes like that. "Luz?" she asked sweetly, arms wrapped around the clipboard. His grin would have put the Cheshire cat to shame.

"Yeah, LT?"

Her smile faded abruptly, though her eyes remained warm. "Shut up."

This time he laughed out loud, inclining his head and pretending to tip his hat at her. "Shutting up, ma'am." She left him behind with a smile, hoping to find out when the next transport would be, and fought the urge to roll her eyes when he - unnecessarily loudly - began to whistle _A Fine Romance_ behind her back_._

She meandered through the busy make-shift ward, smiling at friends and checking on patients, patting Anne on the back and giving Margaret a hand with a soldier unable to sit up under his own power. Finally nearing the offices towards the back, she saw Betty Edwards sitting with Joe Toye, their heads bent closely together and their voices hushed. She was about to pass them by when something caught her eye and forced her to do a double take.

_Hold on. _Looking closer, she could see there was a peculiarly warm tilt to Betty's smile, an almost adoring glint to Toye's dark eyes. There was an intimacy to the entire tableau that caught her by surprise. The woman's hand was even wrapped around the soldier's, something Betty - her no nonsense, ever sensible second - usually didn't do unless someone was dying.

Joe Toye certainly wasn't dying.

_Well, well. Who would have thought._ Too stunned to do much more than ogle the unlikely couple, let alone cite regulation to them, she shook her head in bemusement and made her way into the workrooms. She remembered how she had called Nancy Campbell out on her dalliance with Talbert; relationships between officers and enlisted men were frowned upon at best and penalized at worst. If command ever heard of it, they certainly wouldn't be pleased and it would reflect badly on the entire unit. Betty knew this. _Eleanor_ knew that Betty knew this.

And yet she couldn't condemn it; not when she was rapidly falling for another officer herself and when there was so little love in the world as it was. Betty was a smart girl. Command needn't hear of it, and even if they did, Eleanor would stick by her friends. _Sod the higher ups. They'll come around. _Humming an old tune that suddenly came to mind, she picked up the pencil she had stowed behind her ear earlier and set to work.

_Willie, dearest Willie, don't heed what they say  
For children their parents are bound to obey  
But when the war is over they will all change their tunes  
And you'll roll me in your arms by the light of the moon._

* * *

"Why are we going to the field hospital again, ma'am?"

Barely half an hour later, Eleanor had made up her mind and had summoned five of her team to help with the evacuation of the wounded; the other six would remain in Carentan to work on intelligence and help out at the field hospital. It wasn't common practice for the girls to accompany the men to the medical centers near the beaches, but there was a plan behind it, a reason they were going. Hoisting a stretcher into one of the trucks, Eleanor turned to answer Katie's question.

"We're running low on supplies."

The younger woman smiled ruefully. "Aren't we always?"

"Exactly."

Climbing into the deuce, slight-build Judy grumbled as she held out a hand to help hoist Maria up into the vehicle after her. "I thought we were meant to be off the line soon?"

"Honey," Maria laughed, patting her friend on the shoulder, "We were meant to be off the line two _weeks_ ago."

Pointing two of the stretcher bearers towards the other truck, Eleanor nodded in agreement. "Maria is right," she said, "We're not sure how long we'll be stuck here, so I want to see if we can scrounge anything off the 326th."

"'Sides," a man piped up from where he was being lifted onto the rig, "I need at least two beautiful women to accompany me anywhere."

Eleanor shook her head in fond exasperation. "George."

"Lieutenant," the sergeant grinned up at her, "Wonderful day for a war, don'tcha think?

She ruffled his hair, purposefully ignoring his sound of protest. "If you say so," she said, looking around the group and deciding to change the arrangements a little. "Nancy, Judy, I want you on the second deuce," she ordered them, "Sara in the front seat. Maria, Katie, you're with me."

The girls split up and went to their assigned vehicles, going through the final preparations as the drivers started the engines. Most of the tarp usually covering the trucks had been taken off, the weather cloudless enough to allow such a move, and Eleanor hopped on after Nancy to check if they were ready for departure. She was met by the sight of a soldier with incredibly blue eyes trying - and failing - to reach for the notebook he had let slip onto the floor. He didn't seem too badly wounded, but he was struggling to get a hold of the item nonetheless.

"You all right there, private?" she asked him, smiling briefly at Joe Toye across from them. The blue-eyed trooper looked up, mouth open, a little startled at her sudden interest.

"Yes ma'am," he responded, "I can't quite reach-"

Kneeling down nimbly, she grabbed the offending diary and handed it to him, remaining bent down besides him. "There you go," she told him kindly, searching her mind for a name, "You're Webster, aren't you?"

"Yes ma'am," he said, looking all the more surprised that she actually knew what he was called, "HQ Company."

She fought down the inappropriate urge to laugh as Bill Guarnere's voice echoed through her head. _Fucking jeep-jockeys and desk clerks. _"Must be nice."

Webster didn't seem to agree with that sentiment, but he remained pleasant enough despite his obvious annoyance with his company. "If I'm honest, ma'am, it's dreadfully dull."

'_Dreadfully dull'? Between that and the notepad, the boy's not your regular GI. _"Oh dear," she smiled, well aware that his vexation, on the contrary, _was_ rather typical of most soldiers, "Didn't get your ODs dirty enough for your liking?"

"I enlisted to fight, ma'am, not to help other people push papers around."

"Fair enough," she allowed; administration was necessary, of course, no matter how infuriating, but she understood his desire to do what he had signed up for. If nothing else, it was commendable. "Well, I'm afraid there'll be little more than hospital gossip for you to write about for a while, private."

He winced at that. "How long am I looking at, ma'am?

"It doesn't look too bad," she appraised, observing that it was probably just a nick from shelling or something along those lines, "A fortnight, maybe a month at the most." Ahead, the other driver honked loudly, alerting her that they were ready to go.

"Right, that's my cue," she said, standing back up carefully so as not to bump her head against the steel beams of the truck, "I better get going."

Jumping off the truck, she heard Webster call a thank you after her as she set off to rejoin the other half of the convoy. Though she didn't doubt Maria's ability to keep the men in line, someone had better keep George Luz under control lest he got too saucy. Personally, she knew she'd appreciate the back up had she been in Maria's place; the man could be a handful.

The trip was uneventful, the afternoon sun shining down on them and warming their faces, birds whistling in the distance. There was only one seriously injured man amongst the group of eight soldiers and so it was a relatively relaxed expedition; it lacked the constant worry and fretting that came with critical patients, allowing the nurses to sit back and talk to the men a bit more. Eleanor, in the back of the first truck with Maria, kept an eye on the more gravely wounded man while watching her friend chat with Luz. It seemed they were discussing her team's chances of finding themselves an eligible soldier and comparing the outfits of the various female branches in the US military.

"Now if only our uniforms weren't so godawful," Maria was saying, "We might actually be able to bag ourselves a man."

Eleanor, chuckling, shook her head when the two looked up at her. "You spent months on the same base as an entire regiment of paratroopers, and you're worrying about this _now_?"

"Gotta do something to pass the time, ma'am," Maria grinned, shifting in her seat.

"And we're not all as lucky as you are, huh lieutenant?" Luz added insolently. Eleanor raised her eyebrows at him.

"Watch it."

He made a show out of winking at her meaningfully; Maria coughed to hide an obvious burst of giggles, smiling at her superior angelically when the glare was directed at her.

"If I might add in my two cents, ladies," Luz continued, not bothering to wait for their permission to do just that, "You don't hear me complaining about your ensembles."

"Well, you wouldn't, would you?" Eleanor retorted, smiling soothingly at one of the other troopers who jolted awake when the truck hit a pothole. Besides the sudden bump, something in the atmosphere became off, the hair on the back of her neck standing up. It took her a moment to realize the birds had stopped singing but, looking around the truck, it didn't seem to bother the others. Luz was shrugging.

"Hey, you're the only women around for miles. You could wear a sack and still look gorgeous."

Maria frowned, considering his statement. "What about the French?"

"Darlin', you far outshine them. They don't even really count," he told her, clapping her on the arm consolingly. Maria wasn't about to fall for it, however, and Eleanor was too distracted to snap back a smart reply.

"So what you're saying," Maria observed shrewdly, "Is that we'll do _just_ because we're the only American girls around?"

"That's not what I meant-"

Out of nowhere, shots rang out and it was chaos, bullets veering off metal, people shouting and glass breaking. "_Down_!" Eleanor yelled, pulling Maria along with her as she dropped to the floor of the truck, holding on for dear life when the vehicle swerved uncontrollably.

_Well, we're surely fucked now, _she thought absentmindedly as one of wounded men fell down onto her, knocking the air out of her lungs; the driver must have been hit and there were ditches everywhere along the road. If they crashed into one of those, they would be done for, but somehow, someway, the deuce veered to a halt even as the onslaught of bullets continued to hail down on them.

"Jesus-" Eleanor muttered, rolling the lifeless man off her, struggling upright to see Luz's wide eyes staring back at her. There was blood streaming from his temple, but he was alive and seemed otherwise unharmed; looking behind him, she noticed that the other truck had halted as well and that both the driver and Sara had ducked down to keep from being hit.

"Stay down," she ordered, standing up shakily and raising her hands as the slugs whizzed past her narrowly. There was a gun tucked in her waistband, but even if she would be able to draw it at all, she didn't stand a chance - she _had_ to get who ever was firing at them to stop doing so.

"Bitte nicht schiessen!" she shouted, taking in the dozen or so German soldiers with raised weapons surrounding the convoy, "_Stop firing, stop firing, we're medics! Please, we have no weapons!_"

Finally, the assault stopped and Eleanor had a brief moment to take stock of the consequences, heart thumping in her chest. The deuces were totaled, windows shattered and tires flattened, but the back one seemed to be better off than the one she was on. She wasn't sure about the people onboard for the most part, but she spotted Sara cautiously peeking from her hiding place behind the dashboard - that was something, at least. Miraculously, Luz, Maria and one of the other wounded soldiers on her truck were relatively unharmed, but the remaining two were either dead or dying, their blood dripping macabrely down the sides of the vehicle. _Oh, Christ, this is bad..._

The Germans were shouting. "Raus!" they dictated, waving their rifles and roughly pulling Maria down to the ground. "_Hands in the air, let's go. Out!_"

Luz was still staring at Eleanor, bewildered. She nodded at him grimly. "Do as he says."

"Fuck," the sergeant swore, rising to his feet with difficulty and hobbling along with Eleanor's help, "I'm going, I'm going."

"_Search the trucks,_" one of the Germans - a Captain, judging by his insignia - ordered his men, and Eleanor felt a spike of fear rush through her. As a medical transport they were supposed to be unarmed, but she knew some of the men had brought along their own non-regulation pistols. They weren't something they liked to leave behind, and it wouldn't have been an issue had they not been ambushed - but if the Germans found the weapons...

"_What the hell are you doing?" _she demanded of the officer, hoping that she would be able to divert the enemy attention to herself by making a commotion, "_Why'd you shoot at us?_"

"_You're an enemy convoy,_" he answered simply, gesturing at his men to get Sara and the driver out of their seats and walking towards the second truck. Eleanor rushed along with him, noticing their attackers looked like a bit of a motley crew and carefully storing that information for later use. She forced the man to a halt right between the two vehicles; it worked in drawing the men's focus away from the others.

"_A __**medical**__ convoy!_" she spat out, furious, "_Didn't you see the Red Cross? What is __**wrong**__ with you?"_

He looked at her blankly, but there was something remotely desperate in his eyes that didn't sit well with her. "_What's wrong with any of us these days?"_

Turning on his heel, he headed the other way, passing by Luz, Maria and the other soldier where they were kneeling on the ground, hands on their heads. All three of them gazed at Eleanor warily when she ran by them, hot on the German officer's heels.

"_Look, what is it you want?" _she asked, trying to find a way out of the situation, "_We're unarmed civilians - these men are injured. We're not about to do you any damage any time soon._" No response. Unthinkingly, she grabbed the man by his shoulder. "_You're making a big mistake-_"

Immediately, several guns were trained on her, including the captain's own. "_Quiet,_" he commanded coldly, and she raised her hands again.

"_Okay,_" she tried to appease him, keeping her voice low, "_Okay. Take it easy._" Narrowing her eyes, she studied him briefly. He looked young. A little uncertain, probably scared and on the run; certainly a long way from home. She could use that weakness, exploit it, but first she had to establish a connection. "_What's your name, Captain?_"

"_None of your business,_" he hissed, and she smiled soothingly.

"_I'd just like to know who I'm talking to, that's all._" Her voice was so smooth, so quietly persuasive, that he could not help but give in, demeanor softening the slightest inch.

"_Thomas Meier._"

Eleanor's heart skipped a beat at the small victory. "_Right,_" she said, "_Thomas. My name's Eleanor. Now, you and I both know there's a whole lot of Allied forces between here and Germany, but there's still a way out of this." _Given how worn his men looked, they had been fleeing for a while and were wearying of it. By providing the Captain a way out, she might just be able to get her people to safety as well.

"_Let us go,_" she proposed, "_We won't do you any good. Just take the trucks and leave, all right?_"

Meier's eyes shifted around. He was considering it. _"How do I know you won't turn around and tell your commander about us?"_

Shit. "_I give you my word as a nurse that we won't._"

"_Not good enough,_" the captain decided after a moment, lips thinning as he gestured at his men again, "_You're coming with._"

He was off again, walking towards the front of the first truck, and Eleanor ran after him as she had done before, shaking her head. "_Taking us hostage will only slow you down-_"

And then she saw it. Slumped sideways over the steering wheel, drenched in blood and pale face unmoving, was Katie- sweet, caring Katie who had been so upset over Tipper getting hurt, her friend and charge. Eleanor felt herself stagger.

"No," she choked, "Oh God-"

She set off towards the truck, desperate to help her friend, tears already blurring her vision. This couldn't be happening. Not Katie. Not now. She paid no heed to the guns being pointed at her and ran, launching herself forward until someone grabbed her by the arm and forced her to stop.

"Halt!" one of the Germans said brusquely, throwing her down onto the ground and aiming his rifle at her. Pain shot through her arm as she extended it to break her fall. "_Don't move_!"

"_What have you done?" _she shouted, voice breaking, "_Let me get to her, she's hurt-_"

"_No._"

"_Please!_" she begged, heart-broken, but the captain's attention was drawn away by one of his men who, sidling up to him, whispered something in his ear. They conversed for several seconds, staring every so often at Eleanor, who, unable to move and unable to do anything, was feeling bleaker with each passing moment.

Finally, the officer turned to her. "_I have given you my name,_" he said, expression unreadable, "_It seems only fair that you give me yours."_

Swallowing, she closed her eyes briefly, fighting back the waves of grief threatening to consume her. "Lieutenant Eleanor Fairfax."

"_You're American._"

What the hell kind of question was that? Didn't the uniform kind of give it away? "_Yes."_

"_Then why is your accent French, lieutenant?"_

Her eyes opened again and she fought to keep the panic from them. In her distress, she must have let her pronunciation slip, falling back on what she knew best. "_It is?_" she asked innocently, realizing that if he knew who she was they were all dead, "_I learned German in school, maybe-_"

"_Really?_" the officer countered, and she readied herself for the inevitable, "_Because you look an awful lot like-_"

_Bang. _Meier dropped to the ground, dead. _Bang. _Another German down, only a split-second later. Eleanor's eyes widened but she didn't hesitate to grab her own gun and start shooting. Mayhem erupted. By sound alone, Eleanor counted two American weapons besides her own, but the Germans had caught on and were returning fire by now. She rolled over and ducked behind a wheel, relieved to see that Luz had pulled Maria down with him and they were taking cover. Four Germans down. Five. Six. The tally went on, until finally, the shots died down.

"Hold your fire!" Eleanor called, breathing heavily, holding up a fisted hand until she was certain no one was shooting anymore. Eerie silence permeated the area and she squeezed her eyes shut rapidly, trying to regain focus. _Breathe. Just breathe._

"Shit," she ground out, moving over towards the three that had been in her truck and checking them for injuries almost frantically. "Maria?"

"I'm okay," the nurse assured her dazedly, blinking, "I'm okay-"

By her side, Luz - one side of his face caked with blood, face ashen but blessedly, wonderfully _alive_ - was shaking his head. "Her arm's bleeding, Elle."

Digging up two bandages and a tourniquet, she tossed the items at him while satisfying herself that the other trooper was fine, too. "Take this, tie it off," she told him, moving upright and surveying the situation. Nancy, standing at the side of the other truck, was staring down at the gun in her hand; behind her, Judy was helping down a grimacing Joe Toye, what looked to be his own pistol stuck in her pocket. Sara and the driver were getting up cautiously, bruised and beaten but otherwise okay. Thinking quickly, Eleanor sprung back into action.

"Sara, take the other deuce, see if anyone's still alive in there," she ordered the girl nearest to her as she jogged past on her way to Nancy. The youngest nurse's hand were trembling, her eyes wide, and Eleanor knew she had to snap her out of it before she went into full blown shock.

"Nancy," she said urgently, her hands leaving reddish brown stains on her friend's arms as she gripped them tightly, "Nance. Are you hurt?"

Bewildered green eyes met her own. "No," she said softly, then cleared her throat and shook her head, "No. I'm- I'm fine."

_Thank God for that. _Looking at the half a dozen or so dead Germans spread around them, Eleanor couldn't help but marvel at their luck, not to mention's Nancy's daring at shooting them to begin with. Her gaze landed on the gun still clutched in the girl's hand. "How'd you-"

"Private Webster's sidearm," she explained, glancing over her shoulder, "The Krauts didn't see it."

Eleanor nodded. They had been more than just lucky; they had been incredibly blessed. Their attackers had been weary, disorganized, more than a little sloppy in their searches. The possibility of what might had happened if they hadn't been was almost too catastrophic to even consider.

"Judy, how are you doing?" she called up to the other nurse, hands still firmly on Nancy's arms. The tawny head popped up from behind one of the beams.

"Just a few scrapes, ma'am," Judy reported, "Corporal Toye tore his stitches."

_Okay, so the front truck __**did**__ bear the brunt of the attack. Several less people to worry about. _"Nancy, look after Toye," she told the shaken girl, squeezing her arms briefly and happy to see the determined nod she received in reply, "Judy, get on the radio and get us some help."

The medic who had been driving was standing a little ways away, looking unsure of himself. "You!" she beckoned him, passing him her gun, "Take this. I want you on guard."

"Yes ma'am."

_One truck down, one to go. _Going back to the other vehicle, she was surprised to see Sara working on one of the soldiers she had presumed to be beyond her help. Nearby, a dead German without any bullet wounds stared up at her with empty eyes; it seemed that the wounded soldier had somehow managed to catch him by surprise and choke him to death with his bare hands. _Jesus Christ,_ she thought, _this whole regiment deserves a goddamn medal of honor._

"Shoulder, graze on the neck," Sara told her without preamble, putting pressure on the more serious wound, "He's bleeding pretty bad."

Vaulting into the truck and almost slipping on the sheer amount of red on the wooden floor, Eleanor settled down besides her and dug up a fresh bandage. "Okay, let me have a look."

Sara's frightened eyes met hers. "Ma'am, what about Katie?" Eleanor didn't say anything, clenching her jaw and focusing obstinately on taking care of the wounded trooper. That look, that one look of ill-concealed grief, was enough for Sara to know what had happened. "No..."

"Sara, focus," Eleanor exhorted her, catching her arm when she threatened to break down entirely, "Look at me. I need you to focus."

Tears falling steadily down her face, the nurse nodded nonetheless. Eleanor squeezed her arm in encouragement. "Good. Hold this for me."

It took a good twenty minutes for their back up to reach them. By then, the soldier who had so valiantly made a move on the enemy despite being critically wounded had quietly slipped away, the blood loss taking its toll at last. Eleanor, now focused on getting Maria's arm wrapped up, didn't even notice the help arriving until the doors of their vehicles slammed shut and she jumped at the abrupt sound of it, already reaching for the weapon she had given away earlier. One of the new guys - a sergeant from HQ - was running up towards her, shock written plainly across his face.

"Lieutenant Fairfax?" he called out to her, eyes widening when she stood up tremulous legs and nodded at him, "Jesus Christ, ma'am, what happened here?"

"We were ambushed," she said tonelessly, "Four dead, ten injured."

The sergeant gave a low whistle. "Holy hell," he said quietly, observing the carnage a moment before turning back to her, "Let's get you out of here."

Someone, bless their souls, had made certain that there were enough vehicles to get the nurses to Carentan and the men to the hospital near the beach at the same time, but the dead - Katie included - were bound that way as well. The unharmed girls personally took their friend out of the front seat, lifting her gently and lowering her onto a stretcher, all of them crying silently as Eleanor closed her eyes. Eleanor herself found that she could not cry; a throbbing numbness settled over her even as she stroked back Katie's hair and took her dog tags, saying goodbye wordlessly. She hadn't deserved this. She shouldn't have died. It simply wasn't fair.

Careful embraces and tender farewells - all the more heartfelt because of the ordeal they had just gone through - were exchanged with the surviving paratroopers before the little cortege set off. Eleanor watched them go, turning back to see what was left of her team hugging each other in a vain search for comfort.

"What will happen to her, lieutenant?" Sara wanted to know, "Where are they taking her?"

Sighing, Eleanor wrapped an arm around the girl's shoulders and pulled her close. "The morgue. She'll be buried with full honors, I've seen to that."

Maria let out a heart-wrenching sob and Nancy, holding her, looked up at Eleanor with tear-filled eyes. "You'll write to her parents?"

"Of course."

"Will it ever stop, ma'am?" Judy asked, voice small, and for a long while Eleanor wasn't certain how to answer that. Years ago, she had asked the same question, and look where she was today. She couldn't lie to them. Not now.

"I don't know," she said honestly, roughly, "But until it does, we'll do what we came here to do- what _Katie_ came here to do." She looked around the group, at the girls she had come to care for so deeply and was so very proud of, and had to swallow down the lump in her throat. "Mourn the dead," she told them softly, "Remember them. But never forget that our business is with the living."

* * *

That evening, a dog-tired Harry Welsh walked along one of the corridors of the regimental aid station, sidestepping medics and wounded men as he headed towards the exit. He _really_ needed a drink. Of all the days for a patrol to go wrong, this had to be the worst. Sighing, he took off his helmet and was about to make an irritable remark to the nurse that rushed by him when he recognized her.

"Ellie?"

The girl in question turned around, face dirt-streaked and hair frazzled, ODs stained with blood. "Harry," she said, almost wonderingly, voice a little hoarse, "What are you doing here?"

"Blithe got hit," he responded, watching her closely in concern; the only acknowledgement he received was a vague nod. "We're being pulled off the line."

Rubbing a hand across her forehead wearily and leaving a ghastly streak of blood and grime, Eleanor was barely aware of her friend coming up towards her. When they had returned from their disastrous mission, one friend short and already exhausted, she'd had the heavy task of informing Anne - Katie's best friend - about her death. After that harrowing job was done and she had sent the girls off to rest, a whole slew of new wounded had arrived and she had single-handedly attempted to do a job that usually fell to three people. At this point, she was functioning largely on autopilot and sheer stubbornness. There was little else she could do.

"Yeah, I heard," she said, "I-" The lightheadedness that had been plaguing her for a while suddenly became overwhelming and her knees buckled without warning, her whole body sagging forward, and she realized in a brief moment of clarity that she was headed straight for the floor.

"Whoa, hey," Welsh exclaimed, lunging forward and catching her just in time, "Sit down." He used what little height he had to settle her against the wall before carefully sitting down himself. "You look awful."

A faint smile. "Blood and gore really isn't my color, huh?"

"No, I guess not."

The world slowly stopped spinning as she focused on breathing, head bent towards her knees, Harry's smaller form steady and comforting besides her. Tilting her head, she glanced at him and watched him fumble with his bag; she might not look too great, but he certainly wasn't looking particularly peachy either. Even through the haze of exhaustion, she noticed the tremble of his slender fingers and was immediately worried.

"Your hands are shaking."

Welsh snorted, amazed that she would fret over him when she was in such bad shape herself. "So are yours, beautiful," he observed, expression softening, "What happened?"

A shudder ran through her, memories and grief darkening her eyes. "We ran into an ambush," she said quietly, "Bunch of escaped POWs, I think."

He stilled, abruptly breaking off his hunt for a cigarette. "Jesus Christ."

Her lower lip wobbled precariously for a moment. "Katie's gone," she choked, the tears she was too tired to fight threatening to spill at last, "I tried to save her-" She broke off, weeping.

"C'mere," Welsh sighed, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her against him, "You can't save them all, Ellie."

Eleanor shook her head. "I should've gotten to her," she protested miserably, "I should have moved faster, should have known-"

"Fuck, Elle, stop trying to play God," Harry said, but there was no heat in it and he rubbed her arm soothingly, "There's no way you could have seen this coming, and I doubt there's anything you could have done."

"I got them into this."

"You gave them a choice, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but-"

"No buts," he asserted sternly, gently wiping her cheeks, "She _knew_ what she was getting into, sweetheart. They all do. This thing is a whole lot bigger than either of us, so stop pretending everything's your fault."

Her hand tightened where it was clenching his jacket. "It feels like it is," she whispered, a new wave of tears getting the better of her as she sobbed into his jacket.

He sighed, holding on to her and rocking the two of them steadily, much like she had that little boy several weeks ago. "I know it does. Shh."

It took a long while for her tears to dry and composure to reassert itself. Sniffing, she pulled back and stared at him momentarily, chuckling feebly. "I got your shoulder all wet."

"Hey, that's okay," he told her sincerely, twisting to retrieve his canteen and give it to her. "Here, drink."

She shook her head. "I'm okay."

"Dehydration's a soldier's worst enemy," he said, raising his eyebrows at her, sounding as if he was reciting something straight out of an army manual. She rolled her eyes.

"What is this, basic training?"

"If it needs to be," he shrugged, pushing the bottle towards her, "Go on, drink."

Unable to summon the strength to fight his persistence, she took it from him and unscrewed the cap, taking a swig and instantly regretting it as she choked on the strong taste of alcohol. _Should have known..._

"Jesus!" she exclaimed, wiping her mouth and looking at him in disbelief, "You realize that as far as dehydration goes this is bloody counterproductive?"

"But it makes you feel better, don't it?" he grinned, taking back the canteen from her and taking a long drink himself. She smiled wearily, rubbing at one bleary eye as he stowed the flask away again. It was hard to keep awake now, worn out by her emotional catharsis and too long without rest as she was. Sleep was starting to look pretty damn attractive.

"You coming to Utah with us?" Harry asked. She snuggled into him unconsciously, yawning.

"Seems that way."

"Good. Get some sleep, all right?" he said quietly, noticing that her eyes were beginning to drift shut. "I'll wake you up when we're ready to move."

"Okay."

"Okay," he repeated, pressing a kiss into her hair, "Okay."

* * *

"Harry. Harry, wake up."

"Hm?" Welsh muttered, opening his eyes to see Dick Winters standing over him, "What time is it?"

"The trucks are here," Winters said - not that Harry hadn't guessed as much already - as he knelt down in front of his two friends, "We gotta go."

Welsh tried to shift and move up, but Eleanor remained slumped against him, fast asleep. He had meant to take a short nap so he would be able to wake her on time, but that obviously hadn't worked. "She's out cold," he groaned, "Can you-"

"Yeah," Winters said, eyes sad as he reached out to lift her from Welsh's grasp, "Yeah, I got her."

Stretching, the little Irishman watched with interest as his friend tenderly wiped some of the dirt off her face, smiling as she stirred slightly. The whole thing was so intimate Welsh almost felt as if he were intruding. Clearing his throat, he reached for his canteen and drank from it.

"You hear one of her nurses got killed?"

The smile faded; rumors had spread quickly overnight, and Winters had heard them all. "Jones, right?"

"Katie," Welsh nodded, watching Eleanor sleep for a moment. She looked much younger like this, despite the state of her appearance, much more like what a girl her age _should_ look. It was sad, really.

"Is she all right?" Winters asked, and Welsh pondered his answer momentarily. She really wasn't - couldn't be, given what had happened - but she was a resilient sort of girl. She'd already been through years of war before any of them had even signed up, having seen Christ knows what, and yet still, somehow, had managed to be all right. Surely this occasion would be no exception to that rule?

He shuddered. He really didn't want to consider the alternative. "She will be," he said firmly, contemplating his friends with narrowed eyes before adding thoughtfully, "Maybe you should try and kiss her awake."

"Harry-"

Right at that moment, with Winters blushing and Welsh slowly starting to grin, Eleanor decided to come to. "'s going on?" she muttered, sitting up, looking around in confusion.

"Hey there, sleeping beauty!" Harry smirked, a sparkle to his eyes that did not bode well. Eleanor realized she was in fact more or less cradled in Dick's arms.

"Sorry to wake you, Ellie," he said, cheeks almost as red as his hair, "We're leaving soon."

"Right," she stuttered, her own face coloring, "Sorry. I'm awake now."

She tried to rise but moved too quickly, a rush of blood to the head sending her reeling. Both men grabbed an arm to steady her. "Whoa, easy," Welsh blurted, hanging on to her until Winters had stood up and could take over, "You okay?"

"Yeah," she nodded, exhaling, and smiled at her friends. "Thanks."

"No problem," Harry assured her as they began to head outside, remaining close by each other's side even if they weren't physically touching anymore. They passed by the new replacements coming in, all of them looking painfully clean and green in comparison to the seasoned and dirty paratroopers. It was almost laughable, and yet Eleanor pitied them for what they would be about to face. _None of them saw the mud turn red with blood on D-Day, nor the bodies stacked meters high and hanging from trees around the countryside. God help them, they have no idea what they're getting themselves into._

Welsh, eyeing the rookies warily, turned to his temporary CO. "Hot food and showers, huh?"

Winters smiled. "So they say."

* * *

'They' were right - there _were_ showers, and they were heaven after weeks of sketchy personal hygiene. For several long seconds after getting underneath one, Eleanor just stood there, eyes closed, letting the water run down her face. She barely even noticed it was cold as she washed her hair with standard issue Army soap and got rid of the layers of sheer filth that had caked onto her body, hands ghosting over scars both old and new and hipbones that jutted out more than they had in a while. A slightly cleaner uniform was laid out for her once she got out, hair dripping, and she waited to see if her team had everything they needed before heading off in search of some food.

Her hair was still wet and leaving splotches on her shoulders when she found Lew Nixon at the edges of the camp, smoking a cigarette and taking a break. It was one of those warm summer afternoons where the sun was just setting but still left enough heat for it to be comfortable; the area was surprisingly tranquil given the number of paratroopers around. She supposed they were all tired and in need of a break.

Ambling over, she greeted her friend amiably as she lowered herself onto the grass besides him. "Lew."

"Hey, Elle," he returned, smirking when she bent her head sideways to wring excess water out of her hair, "Guess hairdryers were out of the question, huh?"

She raised her eyebrows at him, less than impressed by him quite clearly stating the obvious. "Again with the observational skills, Nix."

The smirk smoothed into a more genuine smile as the intelligence officer exhaled smoke. "You feeling better at least?"

"Yeah," she said, smiling a little, "Almost human again."

Nixon hummed, as thoughtful as he ever really got, and offered her his canteen. "Drink?"

_Well, at least this time I know what I'm getting into..._ _and if I'm honest, I could do with a bit of alcohol. _"Yes please," she replied, taking the tin from him and throwing back a good gulp of his Vat 69. He watched her intently, no doubt aware of her recent misfortunes, and joined her in the drinking.

"Been a hell of a month, huh?"

She snorted, most unladylike, and shook her head. "Give me three days and three nights... should've known that was rubbish."

"Don't remind me," Nixon agreed, "I'm still trying to adjust to the idea of going back at all." He sighed, and a hint of grief flitted over his face, "Half of the original company's gone, Ellie."

"Yeah," she said quietly, thinking of those many men gone and lost as she took back the flask and raised it at him in an impromptu toast, "War is hell."

"Cheers to that."

"Hey, kids!"

Eleanor had to raise her hand against the low light of the sun to be able to see Harry Welsh nearing, helmet in hand and jacket half-open. She smiled and raised the same hand into a wave. "Harry."

He plonked down next to them, throwing his head back to look at Nixon. "Nix, you got any of that whisky left?"

Lew passed him the canteen. "Here you go."

_This is new..._ "You're being awful charitable today," Eleanor remarked, half-smiling, half-frowning at Nixon's sudden willingness to share his beloved drink. He only shrugged.

"Hey, we're getting out of this hellhole," he said, off-handedly, passing the flask back to Eleanor, "I'm feeling generous."

_All right then, gift horses and all that_, she thought, taking another sip before digging up the food she had found earlier. She was hardly about to complain - good company and a decent drink was just about what she needed at that point.

"We having a party?" a new voice asked, and Eleanor smiled up at Winters around mouthfuls of food. With the pleasant warmth of the mid-summer's day and three of the people she loved the most nearby, it was almost as if she were young again, sitting in the garden of the country house with her family.

Of course, she hadn't been wearing a uniform then, and she hadn't been surrounded by US soldiers, but it was the closest she had ever really felt to it. Even if she could never go back to the golden days of the past, the future didn't look so bad if it would be spent with these three.

"Yeah, I guess we are somewhat," Nixon grinned, patting the ground next to him to indicate Dick should sit. He did as he was encouraged to do, managing to look proper even when sitting on the ground and relaxing with friends.

"Couldn't wait until we got back to England?"

Welsh beamed. "Who's to say we won't have another then?" he said, scheming, nudging Eleanor playfully. She shook her head in amusement.

"You two are incorrigible," she told them, frowning when she saw Winters pull out a bag full of cartridges and rummage through it. "Dick, what are you doing with all that ammo?"

He looked up at her, looking for all the world like a kid caught with his hand halfway down the cookie jar. "I'm taking it back to England."

Welsh stopped picking the grass and Nixon lowered his canteen. Eleanor stared. _Wait, what?_

"Last I looked, the Krauts hadn't occupied it yet."

"I know," Winters said, "But there'll be new recruits joining the company. They need to get some practice in before we deploy again."

_That's it. He's officially lost it. _"You're kidding."

He smiled, just the slightest quirking of his lips. "No."

"Man, I pity the poor bastards already," Nixon sniggered. Welsh, too, laughed.

"Like worming their way into Easy won't be a fucking minefield anyway."

_What's wrong with the normal way of training_, Eleanor wondered, still a bit confused. It was inevitable that the weeks in Normandy would have changed the men, but for Winters, Lieutenant Uptight himself, doing something that was so clearly against regulations was almost unsettling. "Surely there's rules against that?"

"Ellie, there's rules against a _lot_ of things," he said simply, and she gave a startled laugh.

"Okay, now you're just scaring the hell out of me," she grinned, "Who are you and what have you done to Dick Winters?"

"Left him in Chicago selling oats, if Guarnere is to be believed," he said, completely straight-faced, and the two other men roared with laughter. Winters could be incredibly wry when he wanted to be.

"I thought he'd given up on that?" Welsh asked, stealing a bit of bread off Eleanor and dodging the smack she aimed at him in retaliation. Winters smiled.

"He seems to have," he noted, watching as Eleanor gave up on trying to swat Welsh and attempted to braid her hair instead. The first part of her hair was fine, but the longer she reached up, the more the freshly healed graze in her side was starting to ache. Catching her wincing, Winters held out a hand. "Here, let me help you with that."

She smiled at him, grateful for his help where she would have once scorned it, and scooted over to him without hesitation. "Thanks," she said quietly, unable to suppress a shiver when his fingers brushed her neck. Welsh shook his head, continuing to munch on Eleanor's dinner.

"And you tell me I'm domesticated..."

* * *

The regiment soon settled into a comfortable routine of drills and rest, the hope of an imminent return to England waxing and waning with each passing day. General Taylor came by and personally expressed his condolences; Colonel Sink did much the same. Eleanor strove to keep her girls occupied and their minds off their loss, putting them through exercises and organizing random little games to pass the time. It worked for the most part, but every once in a while she would wake up in the middle of the night to the soft crying of one of the girls and their comrades' murmured consolations in response. She wished, ardently, that there was more that she could do.

One day after lunch, Eleanor returned to the infirmary to find a shockingly large amount of Easy Company men spread around the area, all of them looking spectacularly queasy. She frowned, speechless, her mouth opening and closing dumbly for a moment.

"What the hell..." she finally managed, turning her head when Anne headed over to her.

"Fruit cocktails," she explained ruefully, crossing her arms and shaking her head, "It seems Private More managed to get into the supply office."

_Of course he did. _Eleanor groaned. After weeks of stale bread and effectively the bare minimum of nutrients, fruit stored in syrup would have been far too rich for any of their stomachs to take. No wonder they were feeling sick. "Oh, the idiots."

"They'll be fine, ma'am," Anne smiled, eyes seeking out her superior's, "We'll all be fine."

The CO didn't miss the way she emphasized everyone - not just the men - would be all right. It was Anne's way of letting her know she was coping, was doing as well as could be expected. Guilt gnawed at the pit of her stomach. "Anne," she hesitated, "I'm sorry-"

"For what?" the nurse interrupted, open face reflecting nothing but honesty, "It's not your fault, Elle. I don't blame you. I-" she sighed, her smile growing sad, "I miss her, and I probably always will, but I've got to make sure her death was worth something, you know?"

Eleanor nodded wordlessly as Anne reached out to squeeze her shoulder. "Our business is with the living. You said so yourself." In the distance, one of the troopers reached for a bowl, retching. Anne dashed off without a second thought. "Oh, here we go again..."

For long moments, all Eleanor could do was stare as her team bustled around the area, seeing to the ill men with efficiency and compassion even if the situation was more than a little funny. Though the self-condemnation lingered, Anne's kind words resonated, lifting at least some of the burden she had been carrying around for the past few days. It was awfully thoughtful of her to put her friend's mind to ease like that, especially considering how rough of a time she'd been having herself. _Whatever happens, _Eleanor thought, touched beyond words, _I made the right chose. Those girls - those women - they are extraordinary, each and every one of them._

She wandered back outside, so lost in thought she didn't even notice Dick Winters coming up besides her, startling when he spoke up. "How are they doing?"

"They'll be fine," she said, righting herself and smiling at him briefly, "Although I doubt they'll want any kind of fruit any time soon."

"I know," Winters replied, following her across the encampment and adding gently, "I meant your unit."

"Oh!" she blinked, halting, "They're all right. They're a tough bunch."

The tall redhead smiled. "Like their CO."

Eleanor blushed, looking down at the grass beneath her feet abashedly until a familiar stern voice called out to them. "Lieutenants."

Both of them stood to attention immediately. "Sir."

Colonel Sink returned their salute, turning first to the male officer. "Lieutenant Winters, what on God's green earth is wrong with your company?"

The nurse among them, seeing her friend grapple for a reasonable explanation, stepped in smoothly. "If I may, sir, I think it's just a twenty-four hour bug. These things are common after prolonged periods of stress."

"I see," Sink remarked, and though his eyes narrowed the barest of moments, he didn't press the issue any further. "I came to tell you there'll be a couple of promotions when we get back to Aldbourne. I'm moving Lieutenants Welsh and Compton up to 1st Lieutenant. You're both being advanced to Captain."

The two lieutenants exchanged a glance. "Thank you, sir."

"Dick," the older man continued, "You've shown yourself to be an outstanding commander for Easy. I'm making it a permanent appointment."

Rather than basking in the overt praise, Dick - true to his fashion - frowned slightly, his first concern elsewhere. "Is Lieutenant Meehan officially KIA then, sir?'

Eleanor felt her heart ache at the mention of Tom Meehan. It had been almost a month since D-day and still nothing had been heard of him or his stick, save for some fragmentary reports about planes that might have been theirs going down. It was almost certain he was dead by now; the fact that he had not been recognized as having been killed went some way in illustrating how topsy-turvy the peninsula remained. Sink nodded solemnly.

"His status will be moved to KIA soon, yes."

Off to the side, someone shouted for Winters, and the lieutenant turned to see what was going on before looking at his superior officer apologetically. "Excuse me, sir?"

"Of course," Sink nodded, waiting for a moment as Winters left before addressing Eleanor, "It seems General Bradley has taken an interest in your work, lieutenant."

Her brows furrowed in confusion. "Sir?"

"He's giving you the Distinguished Service Cross tomorrow, Eleanor, along with Lieutenant Winters and ten other men from the regiment." The colonel scowled. "Of course, I put Winters in for a Medal of Honor, but it seems there's to be only one per division and Lieutenant Colonel Cole is already getting his."

"I'm sure the colonel is a worthy recipient, sir," Eleanor answered vaguely, thrown by the announcement that she would be receiving what was the second highest military honor the United States had to offer. It left her feeling torn - she had already received a similar accolade from the Brits almost two years ago, but she had accepted it only grudgingly and lieu of a higher award. In her mind, the commendations were undeserved; she had only been doing her job, after all, no more than that and no more than many if not most of the men and women around the area. She honestly did not feel that she warranted the praise, and yet it would be rude to refuse it.

"General Taylor certainly seems to think so," Sink was saying, unaware of her inner turmoil, "At any rate, find yourself the cleanest uniform you can get and report to me at 1100 tomorrow."

"Yes sir," she replied, recognizing a dismissal when she heard one, "Thank you, sir."

_Now what?_

* * *

The next morning, Eleanor presented herself to Colonel Sink as he had requested, wearing the neatest uniform they had been able to find - a little big on her, but far more presentable than anything she had worn since D-Day - and her hair braided tidily. Someone had even lent her a garrison cap. She recognized most of the other eleven men; Father Moloney was one of them, and if what Skip Muck and Don Malarky had told her about his unremitting efforts to give dying men their last rights even under heavy enemy fire, he more than deserved the award. Behind the chaplain, she spotted Winters and smiled at him swiftly, face settling into a dutiful mask when the order was given to move out. She felt dwarfed by them, these exceptional men, and more than ever uncomfortable about being counted amongst their ranks - but it was too late for hesitancy. _No turning back now._

The entire regiment had turned out for the ceremony, assembled per company and watching the little platform on which the brass stood as the band - _how had they managed to find an entire band? _- played an upbeat march. Eleanor breathed in deeply and, falling in at the very rear of the small group, marched onto the field with them, head held high and movements crisp. Bad enough that she was the only woman in the entire group, and such an undeserving one at that; she wouldn't give them any reason for ridicule even if it killed her, and would certainly not disgrace the rest of the men by stepping even an inch out of line. Performing the task at hand with poise and proper decorum was the least she could do.

"Detail, halt!" Sink called as they had moved up to the platform, and Eleanor halted accordingly, snapping to. "Sir, detail is formed," Sink informed General Bradley and with a nod, the officer began the first decoration.

Eleanor, listening patiently and silently in awe of the many feats this lone regiment - these few men - had achieved, was starting to worry when she noticed that the general read out the full citations for every single candidate. They included extensive details on what the person was being awarded for; dates, places, the whole shebang. Though she knew her undercover work was effectively over - had been since she stormed into Carentan that faithful day, really - it still bothered her that Bradley would likely expose her so, if for no other reason that it would no doubt garner unwanted attention from the men. Sure, she appreciated the acknowledgment, but she really wasn't very good with this kind of pomp and circumstance. She made a good audience member for these occasions, someone who knew all the right etiquette and could clap along politely, but she wasn't at ease being in the spotlight like this. Not in the slightest.

Eventually, when all the other men had had their ribbons pinned on them, it was her turn and she stepped forward, looking up at Bradley reverentially. The general nodded down at her faintly, smiling, recognition flashing in his warm eyes. "For extraordinary heroism in connection with military operations against an armed enemy while serving as an American Intelligence Officer in the employ of the Special Operations Branch, Office of Strategic Services," he began, and Eleanor barely managed to conceal her grimace. _Looks like I was right. Oh, brother._

"First Lieutenant Eleanor Fairfax entered voluntarily and served in enemy-occupied France from April to July 1944, despite being well known to the Gestapo because of previous activities," the general continued, and she could _feel_ the men's eyes burning into her back, knew her cheeks were heating up awkwardly. If she would have been able to disappear into the ground at that very moment, she would have gladly done so.

"First Lieutenant Fairfax established and maintained radio communications with London headquarters, supplying valuable operational and intelligence information gained at considerable risk of capture, torture and death; she infiltrated the enemy with extraordinary success and organized, armed and prepared French resistance forces in Normandy in the lead up to Operation Overlord. She directed airborne landings on D-Day and, with the help of her unit, served both as a nurse for the 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment and an intelligence liaison for the 101st Airborne for the duration of the Allied offensive."

_God, just get it over with... surely this has to be everything? _

It wasn't.

"First Lieutenant Fairfax displayed rare courage, perseverance and ingenuity at this time, as well as loyalty and dedication in attending to wounded servicemen. Her efforts contributed materially and significantly to the success of the Allied Expeditionary Forces in the invasion of France, and she is hereby awarded the Distinguished Service Cross."

And that was that; she let out a slow but indiscernible breath as she stepped forward and let the general pin the ribbon onto her chest - remotely glad he didn't seem too uneasy about doing so to a woman - before shaking his hand and saluting sharply. The men were ordered to fall out and departed the field while the recipients of the awards were summoned around the platform along with several distinguished guests. General Bradley, looking grave, asked if there were any reporters present.

"If you should write about this," he told them, "Say only that the war is going well and we expect to be in Berlin by Christmas." Eleanor saw the other men nod, their eyes lighting up in hope; Christmas wouldn't be too bad, after all. Surely they could survive until then and make it back in time to celebrate the new year with their loved ones. It took considerable effort for her to keep mum, recognizing the move for what it was - a propaganda measure, aimed at keeping the folks back home optimistic and buying war bonds. It was important, she knew, but she could not help but recall how, all those long years ago when she had been a mere doctor in training in London, the news reels had assured her that the evacuation from Dunkirk had been a triumph and success, when in reality it had been a disaster. She had treated the poor souls coming back in the little ships. She knew how harsh the reality could be compared to what the media reported.

But then hope, no matter how fragile, was really all they could really cling to these days. Winters' face fell the slightest bit when he saw her frown, and she was quick to transform it into a smile for him. _Whatever it takes, _she thought grimly, seeing Dick's lip turn back up, _so long as we get this damn war over with._

_

* * *

_

When they arrived at the beach to prepare for their departure to England at long last, the sun was setting slowly over the water, casting a peculiar silvery-blue light from behind the clouds. The sight was almost surreal; just _being_ there felt almost surreal. They were to walk the last few meters down to the ocean, the tall grass tickling their hands and giving way before their legs, the wind whipping at their hair. Eleanor, in the middle of the exodus along with her unit, felt her heart stir at the sight of the sea and inhaled the salty air deeply. Around her conversation buzzed steadily, the sound of people laughing and talking mixing with the distant drone of machinery. The exhilaration of being alive, of having made it this far, was palpable. Whoops went up around the company as the landing ships came into view, Eleanor's eyes crinkling in fondness; the boys were darn close to running down the strand in pure elation.

But her smile faded when she saw a solitary figure standing at the top of the dunes, overlooking the crowded beach below. She patted Betty on the back and, following her chief's gaze, the second nodded in unspoken understanding. No words were needed. As the rest headed towards the waterline, Eleanor climbed up the hill, movements sluggish in the heavy sand, and ambled up besides the tall redhead staring ahead pensively. He seemed overwhelmed, awed by the sheer amount of men and material, eyes fixated on the American flag waving further down. Eleanor had to admit it was a magnificent thing to behold, but his silence concerned her.

"Dick?" she asked softly, linking their fingers on impulse; it did not even occur to her that others might see. "Darling, are you all right?"

He looked down at her, fleetingly, his hand tightening around hers. "Yeah," he replied, equally hushed, gaze reverting to the beach, "We're really going back, aren't we?"

"Yes," she nodded, finding it as hard to believe as he appeared to, "It seems we are."

"Eleanor," he began, turning back towards her, eyes plaintive, "I-"

She smiled faintly. "I know." And she did; she knew exactly the strange feeling of relief mingling with guilt, of happiness blended with sorrow and the dicey element of love thrown in to boot. So many had died, and yet they had survived, would in all likelihood make it back to England and spend the unforeseeable future together and in relative peace. It was a strange thought and an even stranger sensation. She sighed, exhaling slowly, and leaned her forehead against his arm. "There's so few of them left."

"Sixty-five dead," he murmured, and she felt rather than saw him lower his head, "That's a lot of parents waiting to hear from sons that'll never return."

"Have you news of my boy Jack…" she whispered, heart swelling in her chest as she remembered the old poem. It was written for another war, but the sentiment was ageless._ A father's grief_. There was a lot of that - too much of it - going around the world at the moment, much as it had been thirty-odd years ago.

"Sorry?"

"It's a poem," she clarified, watching the men frolic in the sand. When Dick remained silent, she began to recite the verses, dredging up the stanzas from long-ago memories, voice weaving through the sentences steadily.

"Have you news of my boy Jack? Not this tide."

Somewhere, she knew, were the earthly remains of Tom Meehan and the rest of the company HQ. She had seen enough downed planes to know they were a grisly sight; she imagined the charred remnants of friends and acquaintances, young men - good men, all of them far too young to die - who would never return home and were even now listed as missing rather than dead. How long, she wondered, would it take for their families to hear about their demise? How many days would they be waiting in agonized anticipation for news of their boys?

"When do you think that he'll come back? Now with this wind blowing, and this tide."

Yet even some of those who _had_ survived would not see home for a long while. She remembered poor Tipper, all torn up and writhing in torment, terrified of what would happen to him. What he really deserved was the comfort of being with his family, of being held by his mother and healing in his own time surrounded by the people he loved. She doubted there would be any of that. If past experience was anything there go on, there would be endless numbers of hospitals and rehabilitation facilities before he came close to even returning to to the States.

"Has anyone else had word of him? Not this tide."

As for those with lesser wounds, the ones that would hopefully rejoin the company before too long, their families might never hear they were wounded at all. There were so many men with bullets embedded in their fragile flesh; so many soldiers nicked and cut by shrapnel. It seemed impossible to account for them all and pass on word of their injuries. Perhaps it was for the better that their mothers and sweethearts wouldn't learn about their suffering. Morale had to be kept up back home if this war was to be won, after all, and worried loved ones hardly augmented it; and, moreover, how could they ever be expected understand the pain and hardship these boys went through?

"For what is sunk will hardly swim, not with this wind blowing, and this tide."

But then the fate of those lesser wounded wasn't exactly certain either. Matters could take a turn for the worse in a heartbeat; infections, while greatly lessened since the last great war, weren't uncommon, and who was to say when the company would move out again? If the regiment was pulled back into action before they'd had their chance to heal, they might be left behind or worse, reassigned. Wounded soldiers had a tendency of disappearing out of their comrades' lives. As selfish as it was, she just hoped it wouldn't be permanent.

"Oh, dear, what comfort can I find? None this tide, nor any tide."

Her thoughts strayed to the families back home, no matter where 'home' was. Mothers sitting by the fireplace, their child's picture on the mantlepiece, waiting for news. Fathers too old to go to war, some perhaps scarred by earlier combat, brooding over what their sons must be facing. Siblings missing their brothers. Sweethearts and wives trying to make do until their man came home; children without fathers, some babies who would never even meet them. Widows' pensions weren't too forthcoming, and the ten-thousand dollar life insurance could never replace a son, brother or husband. What comfort could they find, indeed?

"Except he did not shame his kind; not even with that wind blowing, and that tide."

It was a meager solace, but all of these men - regardless of their backgrounds - were heroes. Eleanor, more than anyone, knew how dire the situation had been before the United States had come to Europe, and though the war wasn't over yet, their presence had already made a difference. It was peculiar how little one person could do and how they, at the same time, could make all the difference. Heart aching, she recalled how Katie - bleeding heavily and probably near death - had grabbed the wheel of the truck and steered it away from the ditch, halting it and saving all of their lives. Given her position, her family might never know how and why she had died.

"Then hold your head up all the more this tide and every tide, because he was the son you bore, and gave to that wind blowing, and that tide."

Dick's hand was now almost painfully tight around hers. She never once thought of letting go.

* * *

"Was that a motorcyle I just saw rolling onboard?" Eleanor asked Harry Welsh, joining him at the front of the landing ship that would take them across to England. They were about to depart and most everyone - and everything - had already been loaded on board, but just a split second ago, she could have sworn she saw motorcycle whiz past on the ramp - a vehicle she was certain shouldn't be there.

Welsh grinned. "Maybe."

"Incorrigible," she remarked fondly, shaking her head, and looked at her friend for a moment. "Hey, Harry?"

"Yeah, beautiful?"

"I'm glad you're all right," she said sincerely; although she doubted she could ever properly express how grateful she was that he was alive and well, she felt like she needed to tell him. He meant the world to her - losing him would be like losing a brother.

"Aw, Fairfax-"

She rolled her eyes, having foreseen him making light of the situation from a mile away. "Yes, I was worried," she admitted, "I'll always be worried."

Harry quieted, smiling warmly, and nodded. "Good. Then you know how I feel."

Before she had a chance to say anything else or the situation could become too awkward, they were interrupted by one of the ship's crew addressing him. "Lieutenant Welsh, sir?"

"Yeah?"

"Lieutenant Perkins, sir. I was just wondering what your boys would like to have to eat on the trip back to England- chicken or steak, ice cream, maybe some eggs?"

Laughing, Eleanor left her flabbergasted friend to ponder the dilemma.

* * *

The crossing of the channel was a blessedly uneventful business. Eleanor, deciding to leave the crowded galley behind, wandered up to the deck to find some peace and quiet. There were only a handful men topside and she smiled at them in passing, the laughter of those below drifting up from beneath her feet and the British coast already outlined on the horizon. One of the large guns on the front of the vessel provided her with the desired seclusion, shielding her from view; she set her hands on the railing around it, closing her eyes as she hummed softly and let the breeze toy with her hair unreservedly. _Breathe in... breathe out._

Another year, another ship. How different things were from the last time she had crossed the waters between England and France. There were no tears now, no despair; only a hushed sort of tranquility and contemplation. The loss of friends was still fresh enough for it to remain an unfaltering ache in the back of her mind, but overall, she felt peaceful, content. It seemed at last their luck had turned and the war might yet be won. Though the fighting was far from over, the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel was clearer now, almost tangible, and it was comforting to know that even if she did not make it through herself she would at least leave the fight in the hands of the finest men and women she knew. Hope, as painful as it could be, was truly a beautiful thing.

Familiar footsteps came up behind her and she smiled faintly as she recognized the presence of the person joining her on the deck. She did not need to open her eyes to identify him. "Hello," she said tenderly, smile widening when he came to stand next to her and echoed the greeting. He was warm and reassuringly solid besides her and for a moment she just reveled in having him close - thanked every deity she knew he had made it through. It wasn't until she felt his large hand cover her own that she lifted her lids and looked up, lovingly, at Dick Winters' handsome face.

There were a million emotions reflected in his eyes - affection, gratitude, peacefulness - and she felt her cheeks heat involuntarily, glancing down as she let her fingers link with his and their hands slipped off the banister. He moved closer to her, his free hand coming up to wind in the loose waves of her hair; but his thumb lingered on her cheekbone, caressing the curve of it before moving gently down, tipping up her chin so their eyes could meet.

She studied him, the darkened blue of his gaze, the soft curve of his smile, and she knew she had fallen and fallen deep. They came together in unison, their lips meeting, her heart beating wildly in her chest and her eyes fluttering close again as she sighed into the kiss. It felt like coming home.

When Bill Guarnere came up with his squad some time later, they found the two officers staring out over the North sea together, wrapped in each other's arms. Bill held up his hand, effectively silencing the men's chatter, and called for a tactical retreat with a fond smile and a muttered "about damn time."

Had anyone asked her, Eleanor in all truth could not have agreed more.

* * *

**And there we are, then - back for more, and back for good. :) I hope all the lead up has been worth it... I can promise you now that there'll be plenty more romance in the future.**

**Please read & review - your comments are what keeps me going!**


	20. Victory Polka

**Disclaimer: this story is based chiefly on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.**

**

* * *

**

England in summer was as idyllic and beautiful as Eleanor remembered it. Poppies and other wildflowers grew in the green of the seemingly endless stretches of grass, swaying in the breeze as the cavalcade of trucks, jeeps and a single motorcycle transporting the 506th regiment swept past them. It was an explosion of color vastly different from the war-muted palette of Normandy, a stark reminder of life going ever on despite the destruction and savagery just across the sea. Leaning against one of the steel beams of the deuce that carried her team, Eleanor inhaled the fragrance of flowers and fresh air, reveling in its simple splendor, and listened to the relaxed voices of her friends. The girls were playing a game of "I spy", an endearingly childish past-time for a group of well-trained women wearing uniforms, but also one that spoke volumes of their current circumstances. Their return to Wiltshire was in many ways a return to innocence, to peace, and while it would never be the way it had been before, it was gratifying to see not all was lost.

Up ahead, Aldbourne became visible in the morning light, the bell tower of its Norman church a distinctive landmark in the area. The charming little village was almost dreamlike to behold again and Eleanor felt her breath catch at the sudden wave of nostalgia and relief that swept over her. _This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England. God, it's good to be back. _Her hand clenched in the canvas rolled up at the front of the truck, but she could not help but grin when cheers and whistles went up everywhere around her. It was obvious she wasn't the only one to have spotted their adopted home; just about all of the men were now jumping up in their vehicles to see the town they had grown so fond of.

As the rest of the motorcade swerved off towards their own destinations, second battalion along with Eleanor's unit rolled on in to town. They had the fortune of having been moved to accommodation in the midst of the village; their old barracks had been taken over by new troopers and the infirmary annexed by the 326th medical company, leaving them little choice but to relocate. It was not as if Eleanor particularly minded, however. Not having to run a decent sized medical center practically by herself would be a welcome break and she knew her entire team was far closest to the three companies of Strayer's battalion; there were far worse places to be stationed.

Of course, there was also the added bonus of being surrounded by friendly civilian faces; doors were being thrown open and windows unlatched as the residents turned out in force to greet the Americans. They all seemed at least half as jubilant as the soldiers, shouting heartfelt praises and applauding enthusiastically. For the usually reserved Brits, it was verging on downright adulation. Some joker started up "When Johnny Comes Marching Home" somewhere down the line and within seconds, the entire battalion seemed to have picked up the song, belting along merrily and surprisingly in tune. It didn't take long for the girls and villagers to join in with equal fervor. When the trucks drew to a halt in the town square and the tailgates were lowered, two of the locals came forward bearing battered old drums and struck up the rhythm; laughter echoed around the area as the men and women of the regiment jumped out and, still singing, had their hands shook by the locals.

It was heartwarming to be welcomed back with such kindness and they couldn't have wished for a more beautiful day, but Eleanor knew that even now they could not afford to stall and was already thinking ahead. There would be time for celebration later; for the moment, they had accommodation to set up and further preparations to make. Gathering her girls around she began to lead them through the mass of people, smiling at old friends and colleagues alike as she attempted to make it to their assigned billet. It was an almost impossible task but, stubborn as she was, she managed to push ahead for a good long while. Halfway through the crowd, however, she staggered when someone pulled her against them in an unexpected half-hug. She turned around to find herself face to face with the wide, dimpled smile of Alex Penkala.

"Seems the Tommies finally warmed up to us, huh ma'am?" he beamed, squeezing her arm before he was dragged away by Muck and Malarkey, both of whom were clamoring to show him something. Eleanor, watching the trio go, shook her head with a smile and gave up on getting to their quarters for the time being.

_England, my England, we're back at last._

_

* * *

_

"It's a school."

Held up by the impromptu festivities as they had been, it had taken the nursing-cum-intelligence team a good hour to make it to their billet despite it being very close to the village green. Eleanor, in the process of opening the front door of Saint Michael's School with a set of keys she had been given earlier, arched an eyebrow at her friend. Surely the colored paint on the windows gave away what kind of institution this was. "Yes."

Margaret, eyes darting doubtfully between the building in front of her and her commanding officer, didn't seem too convinced this was such a good idea. "We're occupying a school?"

Next to her, Betty hoisted her bag further onto her shoulder as they waited to enter. "Goodness, Meg, you're making us sound like the Germans."

Saint Michael's was a primary school for boys and girls situated next to the church that bore the same name. It had been offered to Eleanor as interim lodgings and she had been glad to accept it; between the ample facilities and prime location, it was a darn near ideal place for them to be staying. The team didn't yet have any idea about the many perks that came with it, of course, but it was safe to say that _anything_ would be better than their quarters in the field.

"But what about the children?" Margaret pressed, trying to find someone - _anyone_ - who would empathize with her worries. To her dismay, the rest of the nurses just shrugged.

"It's midsummer," Anne observed, "I doubt there'd be any classes anyway."

The lock gave way and the door opened. Eleanor turned around with a smile and backed her way inside. "Come on, girls, we have a lot to do."

"Yes ma'am."

The lobby they walked into was pleasantly cool, the barest amount of dust swirling in the light that fell through the partially closed curtains. For a brief moment, Eleanor felt guilty about trudging across the art deco tiles with their less than pristine jump boots, but it was only a fleeting concern. Were it not for the many soldiers protecting the realm, the children attending this school might have been reading Goethe rather than Shakespeare; besides, she doubted they would really mind at all so long as their toys would be where they had left them when they came back. Making their way through the entrance, the nurses came to another, longer hallway that stretched past several rooms until it ended in a pair of imposing doors that Eleanor presumed led to the main hall. She motioned her team along.

"Since the 326th is only around the corner, we won't need as big an establishment as before," she explained to them, taking in the size and capacity of each room as they moved towards the auditorium, "I want the main hall set up as the ward. A dozen or so beds should be fine."

Judy whistled, impressed. "Geez, we really are downsizing, aren't we?"

_If you're impressed now, wait until you see this. _Opening the doors and entering into the grand hall, Eleanor grinned; it was as large as she had expected and would do nicely as an infirmary._ God bless the Anglican church for upholding schools like this, old-time design and all._ "And you're complaining, because..."

"Oh, I'm not," Judy asserted quickly, eyes wide as she looked around at the high ceilings and wood paneled walls, "This place is gorgeous."

Nancy thumped her on the arm amiably. "And if nothing else, it's less of a walk to get to town."

"More like no walk at all!" Evelyn gushed, spinning around on the creaking floor boards. Even Margaret, who had been so hesitant before, had to agree that this was rather magnificent- the children were lucky to have an assembly hall as pretty as this one, though they probably wouldn't realize as much until much later in their lives. It reminded Eleanor of her boarding school somewhat, though those buildings had been older still than the one she was in now.

She cleared her throat to regain the team's attention. There was work to be done before they could indulge themselves in admiring the architecture. "Anyway," she said firmly, "Ward in here, consultation in the first class room, dorms in the second and third."

"What about the fourth room?" Gale wanted to know, referring to the room right next to the hall; it was the only one that had been as of yet closed off.

"It's next to the kitchens, if I'm not mistaken," Eleanor said, recalling the caretaker's detailed briefing and unable to keep a hint of pleasure out of her voice, "It'll be our mess."

The girls gaped. "We have our own _kitchens_?"

"We do at that," their CO nodded, purposefully keeping the best bit of information for last, "Showers, too."

A beat of silence. A lot of awestruck blinking. Finally, Sara found her voice. "Holy smokes."

They burst out into laughter simultaneously, utterly blown away by the sheer luxury they would be enjoying for the duration of their stay. It was heaven compared to their previous accommodation; someone had to like them up at command for them to have been granted it at all. Betty bumped her shoulder into Eleanor's, smiling.

"We'll be comfortable here."

Maria giggled. "Understatement of the century!"

That brought about more laughter and Eleanor had to hold up a hand to quiet them down again. "All right, all right," she said, never once raising her voice, "Five of you on the medical rooms, three on the dorms, the other two the mess and kitchens." The team snapped to in an instance, splitting up into the assigned numbers without question. Eleanor looked on in approval and glanced at her watch.

"Supply truck should be here in ten. Let's go."

* * *

Arms full of boxes, Eleanor headed towards the kitchens to drop off the newly arrived stocks of canned goods and other various rations. She wondered if she could get away with not helping to prepare the meals; she'd gladly do her share of the dishes and cleaning, but she knew from experience that she was a dreadful cook. Somehow, poisoning ten of America's finest didn't seem like such a good idea to her, no matter how unintentional. Perhaps she could convince Joe Domingus to teach her a thing or two...

"Ma'am?"

The operative halted and looked up to see Judy staring at her uncertainly, obviously on the verge of asking a question. She smiled, encouraging. "What is it, Judy?"

"Well- it's just-" Judy shook her head, "We have two spare cots, ma'am."

Eleanor frowned; one spare bed she had expected after Katie's passing, but why on earth would there be another one? It made little sense. "Two?"

"Yes ma'am," her subordinate confirmed, "Aren't you staying in separate quarters like the rest of the officers?"

_Oh. Right. _It wasn't too unimaginable for Judy to be confused; all of the commissioned men were lodged apart from their companies and Eleanor, too, had stayed in a detached room when they had first come to Aldbourne. Given the circumstances, however, she felt it wouldn't be appropriate to do so now. Though the girls would likely never complain or even remotely blame her for it, they had been through so much already - had grown so accustomed to having each other near - that not rooming with them seemed wrong somehow.

"We're all officers," she said quietly, "I'm staying here."

Judy smiled, her eyes lighting up in acknowledgment and silent respect. "Yes ma'am."

Once in the kitchens, Eleanor found Betty scurrying about, taking stock of the supplies and trying to figure out what to eat when. What struck Eleanor most, however, was that her second was whistling while she worked - yes, _actually_ whistling - and seemed altogether more upbeat than she usually was. It was far from a bad change in her usual solemn friend, but Eleanor feared she knew the cause of this sudden optimism all too well. Sighing, she put down the boxes she had been carrying and leaned against the counter. "Bets, a word?"

Betty immediately stopped whistling and Eleanor was curious if she had been aware of her presence at all. "Yes ma'am?"

_Ah, ye gods, how to broach the subject? _"I'm supposed to be meeting Colonel Sink on the village green," she said, carefully dodging the real topic, "Could you take over for a bit?"

"Of course, ma'am," Betty answered, sounding surprised that Eleanor would even ask. She had thought they were beyond that by now. "Anything else?"

Eleanor sighed. She should have known better than to try and trick Betty like that; the sharp woman wasn't her right-hand woman for nothing. "Yeah, actually," she admitted, looking around to make sure they were alone and could talk in private, "What's going on between you and Joe Toye?"

The remnants of Betty's earlier smile faded completely as she looked away, a little shamefaced. "You saw us in Normandy."

Moving closer to her friend, Eleanor went to stand besides her and crossed her arms wearily. "You're an officer, Bets. He's an enlisted man." Cocking her head down to catch her gaze, she scowled, troubled. "You know it's frowned upon."

Betty's hands tightened around her clipboard until her knuckles were white with the strain, but she looked up nonetheless. "I do," she confessed silently, eyes pained, "Lieutenant, I'm sorry-"

"Don't be," Eleanor interrupted her, though not unkindly, "I just want you to know the risks."

"Yes, ma'am," came the dutiful response, "I do, ma'am."

"Good," Eleanor nodded, face relaxing into a small smile, "I also want you to ignore them if you think he's worth it."

Startled brown eyes met her own. "I'm sorry?"

Once, not too long ago and yet a lifetime apart, Betty had sat her down and spoken frankly to her about her own romantic issues. She had been right to do so - more than right, in fact, given recent developments - and it seemed the time had come to return the favor.

"He's a good man, Bets, and you're my friend," Eleanor said, patting the nurse's knee, "So long as it doesn't mess with either of your jobs, I'm not about to stop you."

"I-" Betty stammered, overwhelmed and lost for words. She settled for squeezing Eleanor's hand instead. "Thanks, Elle."

Eleanor returned the gesture wholeheartedly. "Don't worry about it," she reassured her, getting up and taking her garrison gap from where it was folded around her belt. "I should be back in half an hour at the most."

Betty smiled. "Yes, ma'am."

* * *

The town square was still crawling with soldiers when Eleanor walked onto the village green. Regardless of the tumult caused by several dozen Americans being about, it wasn't hard to find Colonel Sink's imposing figure among the hordes of olive drab; there was something about the man that screamed _in charge_, and his booming voice was unmistakeable. His driver - a dark haired fellow called Lorraine - was just leaving and she inclined her head at him as he passed her by before moving to salute the regimental CO.

"Colonel Sink, sir."

"Lieutenant," he replied, returning her salute, "How are you settling in?"

"Very well, sir, thank you."

"Glad to hear it," Sink nodded, gesturing for her to walk with him. "Now, all personnel are getting the week off, your unit included. We will have to discuss your next assignment within that period."

Eleanor was glad to hear it. The girls had earned the time off and it would give her a chance to sort various matters as well as properly reassess her current situation. Though the latter notion brought feelings of unease with it - she wasn't sure what to do, what would be next, didn't want to leave but knew she might have to - she fought them down without much effort, mostly relieved to be getting some respite. "I understand, sir."

The colonel seemed to understand her anxiety, no matter how well concealed. "I know as little as you do at this point, lieutenant," he told her honestly, "But I'll summon you the moment I hear from division."

_Well, that's all I can really ask for. _"Yes sir."

"Good," Sink said, regarding her for a moment. "Rumor has it the locals are throwing a party. Your girls are allowed out of uniform this once, if they like." He shrugged when her eyes widened in response. "It'd be good for morale."

Eleanor suppressed a surprised bout of laughter. Technically, army nurses weren't ever allowed out of uniform once they had signed up; even when they were off duty, there were special dresses to be worn at all times and regulations to be upheld. While Sink had made an earlier break with tradition for Thanksgiving the previous year, she hadn't anticipated him to do so again, and while his reasoning was sound enough it was also undeniably funny to hear the stern officer say it out loud.

"Theirs or the men's, sir?" she quipped, grinning. She could have sworn there was a little twinkle in his eyes when he replied.

"I think this is one of those cases of two birds, one stone, kiddo."

"Yes sir." They neared the colonel's jeep; Lorraine already had the engine going, waiting for the sign to depart as Sink turned back to Eleanor.

"Right then," he said, grabbing a small box from his pocket and presenting it to her; she barely kept herself from drawling a sarcastic _gee, sir, won't you take me out to dinner first? _As friendly as their relationship had become, he remained her superior officer and one she respected tremendously at that. Sass wouldn't do.

"Let's get those bars on you, shall we?" he continued, opening the box to reveal the silver double bars of a captain's insignia. Eleanor leaned forward obligingly so Sink could pin them on her collar, replacing the old single bar before shaking her hand congenially. "Congratulations, Eleanor."

"Thank you, sir."

"That'll be all."

She snapped to as he got into the jeep. "Sir." Right when she was about to take off, his voice stopped her in her tracks.

"Oh, captain?"

"Yes sir?"

Sink leaned out over the edge of his car, and there was _definitely_ a spark of mischief in his eyes this time. "That non-regulation exception goes for you too."

* * *

There was music coming from the dorms - solid English tunes sung by what sounded like none other than Vera Lynn herself. Intrigued, Eleanor peeked her head around the door and was greeted by the sight of the girls clustered around an ancient looking gramophone. _I'll be damned. All we need now is a bell boy and we might as well be a hotel. _Clearing her throat to announce her presence, the freshly minted captain made her way inside.

"Lieutenant!" Evelyn exclaimed, all smiles as she looked up, "Look what we found."

Eleanor grinned, admiring the decorated brass of the horn. "Nice."

"There's records, too," Sara said, changing the LP on the plate to another one and turning the machine back on. The introduction rang out, dignified, enticing, and a woman began to sing.

_Underneath the lantern, by the barrack gate, darling I remember, the way you used to wait..._

Eleanor froze. In an instant she was somewhere else, torn away from the sanctuary of the British countryside as English blurred into German, Anne Shelton's voice morphing into her own as she sang the beloved "Lili Marleen" for enemy officers she had to pretend she didn't despise. _So woll'n wir uns da wieder seh'n, bei der Laterne wollen wir steh'n..._

"Turn it off," she croaked. The world spun; her hands quivered.

The girls looked at each other, perplexed by their superior's odd behavior. "Wha-"

"Turn it off!" she repeated forcefully, almost shrill, swaying dangerously for a second before Betty wrapped an arm around her and sat her down on one of the beds.

"You heard her, Sara, turn it off," she said quietly, kneeling down in front of her friend. Eleanor was breathing hard, the whole of her shaking like a leaf, but her eyes were less wild than they had been before. Betty rubbed her knee soothingly. "You all right, Elle?"

"Yeah," she swallowed, squeezing her eyes shut and shaking her head, "Yeah. Just give me a moment."

If the girls had been surprised by the outburst, Eleanor was downright shocked. It had been such a good day thus far - almost normal, for crying out loud. _Guess I'm less all right than I thought. _Before returning to France, she had been worried about being able to function under pressure and the harsh circumstances of war, but as it turned out she'd been fine. It seemed being in the relative safety of England was what broke her, the memories haunting her more than ever in the tranquility of what should by all rights be her own home. The irony really knew no bounds and she wondered, distantly, how she would ever return to civilian life if something as simple as a song could set her off like this. She could explain matters well enough to fellow soldiers,but what about those who had never experienced first-hand the kind of things she had seen and done?

"Bad memories, ma'am?" Nancy asked quietly, sitting down next to her. Eleanor knew that Nancy had suffered from nightmares since being moved to Utah beach; if someone had told her the young girl would grow to understand what plagued her before they'd been deployed, she would have probably laughed, but as it was Nancy had earned her stripes and then some. As heartbreaking as it was, she got it now. She knew.

The captain nodded meekly. Betty, bent down in front of her, reached up to twist her collar when the glint of silver caught her eye. "Hold on," she said, fingers gliding over the smooth shapes, "These are double bars. They promoted you?"

Eleanor mustered a faint smile. "Seems that way."

"Why didn't you tell us, Elle?"

"About time, really."

"Congratulations, ma'am."

The change in topic was an obvious relief to the rest of the team, the lot of them unleashing a deluge of well wishes and congratulations. They weren't used to witnessing the cracks in their CO, no matter how small; to them, she was a paragon of strength and perseverance. It was no secret that she had her troubles - of course it wasn't - but it was usually dealt with in private or in the company of Lieutenants Winters, Welsh and Nixon. To Eleanor, the whole situation was a bleak reminder of why she kept these things to herself as much as she could, and she inwardly cursed her own weakness for unraveling in the first place.

"Thanks," she said out loud, squaring her shoulders resolutely, "I have some news, too- you're getting the week off along with the men."

Excitement was as palpable as it was instantaneous. "Really?"

"Oh yes," Eleanor grinned, "Seven days of doing whatever the hell you want."

Anne's smile was rueful as she recalled their months of strict instructions and drills. "So long as we don't shame the nursing corps."

"Well, yes," Eleanor agreed, "I thought that much was obvious."

"I think we can manage," Gale opined, and Eleanor did not doubt it. Although she would insist they travel in pairs just to be safe, she knew the girls could handle themselves.

"You'll have to recommend us places to go, ma'am!" Maria thrilled, already getting starry eyed with the many possibilities. Europe was a brave new world for the American born-and-bred nurses; it was sad how they would mostly get to see it war-torn and miserable.

"I wouldn't know where to start," Margaret agreed, plopping down onto one of the other beds. Eleanor shook her head in amusement.

"I'm sure you'll be okay. Oh, also, Colonel Sink's allowed us to take the uniforms off, just for today."

"You're kidding!"

"I'm not," she said, getting up and straightening out her short-waisted jacket, "He considers it a morale booster."

Nancy laughed. "I'm sure the men will agree."

"Thank God they got us our footlockers already," Grace remarked, staring at the chest at the foot of her bed gratefully. Eleanor nodded; the whole move back to Aldbourne had been surprisingly smooth and well executed. Army logistics weren't all bad.

"I hear you," she said, going to the desk that had been placed in the corner of the room and held a few documents she would need to work on sometime or the other, "Go ahead and change if you're done with your chores."

There was a flurry of movement and excited giggles as she sat down to work, until suddenly, Judy realized their superior officer wasn't actually in the process of getting changed herself. "But what about you, lieute-" she broke off to correct herself, "Captain? You don't have any civilian dresses, do you?"

Eleanor thought back to the navy blue dress she had worn on her first night in Aldbourne and later donated to a one of the women in the village who had needed it far more than she did. The army fed, paid and clothed her and she had been on the move almost constantly since she had first signed up with the SOE; holding on to items was both unnecessary and hard.

"It's okay," she shrugged, "I'll just wear my off duty dress."

"Aw, you can't do that!"

Maria shuddered theatrically. "What would the boys say?"

_The boys can bloody well think what they want, _she wanted to protest, but the girls were already on the move. "Anyone have spare?" Gale asked, scowling when the answer was a clear, resounding no. "Drat."

"I know!" Grace exclaimed, slapping a hand to her forehead, "We'll go to Mrs. Lamb, see if she can borrow you something."

The room was abuzz with agreement, but Eleanor shook her head. Mrs. Lamb - the lovely laundress who was kind enough to help out all the military personnel in town - was a friend, but she could never impose on her like that. It would be altogether too much to ask. "Don't be ridiculous-"

Betty, of all people, raised an eyebrow at her. "Elle, if Colonel Sink wants us to play cheerleader you can't very well ignore him."

"Yeah!" Evelyn agreed, "You're pretty much the regimental mascot, after all."

_The regimental mascot? For Christ's sake..._

Sara held out her hand. "Come on, it'll be fun."

Looking around, Eleanor saw that they weren't about to back down. _Okay. What the hell. _Rolling her eyes, she shook her head and hoisted herself upright with Sara's help, letting the girls lead her outside. _The boys had better be grateful._

Half an hour later, she found herself returning to their temporary home with one old-fashioned tea dress and a pretty set of clips for her hair, both items wrapped up neatly in a brown-paper package as though they were some kind of gift. Neither were the height of fashion or even particularly remarkable - from what Eleanor understood, they had belonged to Mrs. Lamb's (thankfully taller) sister-in-law - but the dress was of a light material perfect for summer with a full skirt that would work well for dancing, and the clips meant she would literally be able to let her hair down for once. It was, as the laundress herself had commented, a small miracle that they hadn't been done away with yet and, as Eleanor had told her repeatedly, awfully generous of her to borrow them to the newly promoted captain.

The girls began their preparations in a cacophony of chatter and laughter, helping each other with make up and fussing over stockings. Having gotten rather alarmingly good at scrounging, they had managed to procure a mirror from somewhere and took turns sitting in front of it, already scheming over who they would dance with. Eleanor watched them fondly, dawdling on her own dressing until Maria took notice and made a point of letting everyone else know about it, too. By the time they had all showered and dressed to the nines, it was nearing dinner and the CO ushered them out ahead of herself under the pretext of having to lock up the place; but when they were gone, she looked around the empty halls and sighed, glad for the momentary quiet.

She went around the dormitory methodically, straightening out cots and storing abandoned curlers, finally reaching her own little corner at the far end of the room. Her uniform was laid out across her bed and she reached over to fold it, halting mid-motion and frowning when something jingled in the pocket of her jacket. It took her a second to pry it out and hold it up to the light; her heart sank. They were Katie's dog tags, wiped clean off the blood that had previously stuck to them, but a painful reminder of her friend nonetheless. Her hands clenching around the metal and her eyes closing briefly, she sighed heavily, moving over to her footlocker and storing them away with the utmost care. The tags around her own neck suddenly felt cold against her skin.

Straightening out, she caught sight of herself in the mirror that had been placed on her desk and wandered over for a closer look almost mechanically. Long hours spent in the sun had left her previously pale complexion with a faint hint of a tan, off-setting blue eyes and outlining the shape of her uniform on her skin. It was strangely apt how nature had seen it fit to imprint her livery onto her skin, she mused, twisting a lock of hair away from her face and pinning it in place behind her ear before mirroring the gesture on the other side. Her hair had grown longer, too - it brushed her collarbones now in a most unfashionable way, but what worried her more was that it might become a hindrance. She'd have to see about getting at least a bit of it cut off.

There was a tube of lipstick next to the mirror and she grabbed it on impulse, twisting out the red stick and smoothing a layer over her lips. She looked so much softer like this, without the standard issue olive drab and with her hair flowing down freely, so much more like what she remembered herself as before the war; it was almost frightening how much difference a few minor adjustments could make, and she wasn't at all sure which look she preferred. The muffled sound of someone nearby had her on guard in an instant, lipstick hovering over her bottom lip until she saw Dick Winters reflected in the surface of the mirror. He lingered in the doorway, evidently unaware that she had even noticed him, watching her closely with that look of distant wonder and affection he often wore around her and she found utterly charming - but also made her more than a little self conscious. Returning her focus to the final piece of make up, she called out to him casually.

"You can come in, you know."

The slight scuffling that followed had her smiling in amusement as she closed the cosmetic, spinning around in time to see him beginning to amble over over. "Sorry," he apologized sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck distractedly while he looked around the room, "Uh, nice billet."

"Isn't it?" she enthused, bending down to close her trunk and fiddling with the lock, realizing he was still staring. It was starting to unnerve her. "How are your men?"

That got a smile out of him. "Excited," he said as she dusted off her knees and stood back up, "Most of them are in the town square already."

"As they should be. I-"

Without warning, he wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her close, kissing her soundly. She made a little noise of surprise but soon kissed him back, her hands winding into his hair as she decided right then and there that she could quite happily die in his arms. Until now, she had thought these kind of feelings only existed in fairy tales and films, but here she was, utterly captivated. Even when they pulled back, both a little breathless, he did not let go, resting his forehead against hers tenderly.

"You look beautiful," he whispered, long fingers brushing across her cheekbone. Her knees felt suddenly weak and she was glad for his firm hold on her.

"You're not half-bad yourself," she said, equally soft, smiling as he bent down to kiss her again. He ran his thumb underneath her bottom lip when they broke apart, chuckling when it came away stained with red.

"You've mussed your lipstick," he remarked wryly, showing her the smear on his finger. Eleanor blushed and swatted at his chest, laughing.

"Oh, _I _mussed my lipstick, did I?"

Before the matter could be resolved, there was music starting up outside and the both of them stiffened involuntarily. People would start noticing their absence soon; they would have to go to the town square and rejoin the rest of their friends if they were to avoid a scandal.

"The girls were looking for you," Winters said reluctantly, head turning towards the commotion.

"Oh," she breathed, disappointed, toying with the collar of his shirt and vaguely noting the identical set of bars on them, "Are you..." Her voice trailed off, but she smiled in relief when he nodded and reached up to take her hand.

"Of course."

"Well then," she declared, smile broadening when he pressed his lips against her knuckles, "Let's go, captain."

* * *

Lipstick newly reapplied, Eleanor went to search for her team and found them sitting around one of the tables that had been put up for the occasion, men already flocking nearby. There was improvised bunting hanging from the trees and amplified music sounding from somewhere inside the houses; everywhere she looked, there were civilians intermingled with men in khaki and olive drab, girls hanging off their sweetheart's arms and old men buying the American boys a beer. It seemed like an oversized street party, but all she could feel was the happiness that seemed to permeate the very air and stirred in her own heart. _We're alive. We've made it._

Squeezing Nancy's shoulder, she sat down on the single empty chair, greeting the girls with a smile. "Captain Winters said you were looking for me?"

"We were," Betty answered, fighting a losing battle against a threatening grin, "We, err- we were wondering what took you so long."

Eleanor looked down and busied herself with readjusting one of the clips in her hair, determined not to let them see her blush. "Sorry, I got-" she cleared her throat a little awkwardly, "Caught up."

"Oh _really_ now?" Maria said cheekily, smiling repentantly when Eleanor shot her an unimpressed look. "Sorry, ma'am."

"We wanted to have a toast," Nancy elaborated, her own smile growing sad, "You know, to Katie."

That sobered the whole lot of them in an instant. Nodding slowly, Eleanor looked around the group of solemn faces. "That sounds like a good idea."

"That's what we thought," Sara said, passing her one of the shots she had been filling with what looked to be some kind of liquor. "Here you go, ma'am."

They were all staring at her expectantly as she took the glass, but she held up her free hand in protest. This wasn't her tribute to make. "No, no," she objected, "Anne, you should be the one to do it."

Anne nodded, grateful, and raised her glass along with the others. "To Katie Jones," she began, her voice wobbling only a little, "The sweetest girl and best friend I've ever met, and probably ever will."

"To Katie," they echoed, downing the drinks and staying silent for a few long moments, each lost in their own thoughts and memories of their friend. It was strange to think it had only been just over a week since that disastrous patrol; already, France felt like a distant dream, escalating into the periodic nightmare every once in a while but little more than that. Everything moved all at once faster and slower these days.

Eleanor finally broke the silence when she spotted an ensemble setting up musical instruments a little further away. "They got a band?"

"Yup," Evelyn nodded, following her gaze, "Seems like we're not the only ones who are happy to be back."

_They certainly went through a whole lot of trouble to please us. Let's just hope the boys don't get too spoiled... _"Apparently."

Pat Christenson appeared in front of her without warning or ceremony. "Opening dance, lieutenant?" he grinned, holding out his hand. It was tempting; the band might actually be decent if the ditties they were using to warm up were anything to go on, the weather continued to be gorgeous, and Eleanor felt like she could do with losing herself in a dance or two. Yet, looking around her group of friends, she hesitated. Only seconds ago, they had been toasting to Katie's memory; celebrating so soon after felt wrong, somehow. She shook her head, biting her lip. "I don't know-"

Christenson's face fell, but he was in luck - her team were on his side.

"Aw, ma'am, you should," Gale encouraged, leaning forward. Besides her, Grace nodded in agreement.

"Don't let us stop you!"

"The boys want their show," Anne smiled when Eleanor's eyes come to rest on her, "Best not keep them waiting."

Eleanor, exhaling, grabbed Christenson's hesitant hand and jumped to her feet. Apparently this was going to be one of those days where she started out wary of everything but would get convinced to give in by everyone anyway. "Oh, all right."

The girls shouted their support after them as the tall sergeant led the way through the crowd and towards the band. Somewhere along the way, one of the gathered troopers - a Fox Company private she had treated for minor injuries in Normandy, judging by the sound of his voice - noticed them heading for the makeshift dance floor.

"Hey, fellas!" he hollered, drawing the attention of the majority of his colleagues, "Clear the way! Let the lieutenant through!"

Sure enough, the masses split before them like the Red Sea, and Eleanor ducked her head, blushing. She was always happy to provide entertainment for the men - _maybe I am a bit of a mascot after all, _she had to admit grudgingly - but this was a little much. Christenson, noticing her embarrassment, squeezed her hand as they entered the clearing and the music began to play, properly this time, slowly moving through its opening chords.

The operative frowned. She recognized the tune - it was a theme from an old film. "Forty-second street?" she asked of her partner, glancing up at him, "I don't think I have my tap shoes on me, sarge."

"Wait for it," he urged her, watching her begin to grin as the music sped up from its original tempo into something far more danceable, his own smirk growing waggish. "You up for a Charleston, LT?"

Eleanor laughed, not even bothering to correct his mistake in calling her a lieutenant. "Yes!"

It was a suitably triumphant and upbeat dance. Grabbing Pat's arms, she let him lift her into the air, swinging around until she hit the ground again, immediately kicking up a leg, her arms moving along. Kick, spin, jump, twirl - it was as if they had never been away and it was November 1943 once more, the both of them beaming like idiots as the gathered crowd hooted and hollered. They finished the dance with their customary flourish, one of her arms wrapped around his neck and the other extended over her head as he dipped her low, holding for several seconds and grinning down at her before spinning her back up. The men roared in approval around them.

_Ah, to hell with it, _she thought, laughing as Skip Muck waylaid her instantly and demanded the next dance. _If I can make them this happy, I'll even wave pompons around if I have to. _

_

* * *

_

"You're sure your last name is Fairfax, right, doll? It ain't Powell or somethin'?"

Leaning against a wall alongside Bill Guarnere, drink in hand and feet tired from the half a dozen jitterbugs and jives she had been through, Eleanor chuckled lightly. "Yes, Bill, I'm sure it isn't."

"A man's gotta ask," the Philly sergeant shrugged, taking a swig of his own beer. Twilight was slowly falling but still the young folks danced, no doubt aided by the copious amount of alcohol that was being served; it seemed like the party might go on for a good while yet.

"Hey, Gonnhorrea!" The duo looked up to see Johnny Martin wandering over, less than sober but still clearheaded enough to walk more or less straight up to join them. "You tell her about our plans yet?"

"Oh, yeah!" Bill declared, clinking his pint glass together with his fellow NCO, "Me and Johnny here are headed to Edinburgh."

Eleanor smiled - he had mispronounced it _Edinburg _as many of the Yanks did. "Edinburgh," she corrected automatically, enunciating the final _burrah _only to receive a set a bewildered looks in return.

"What?"

She shook her head warmly. "Never mind."

Though he exchanged a glance with Martin that clearly said _what's the crazy broad on about now, _Guarnere continued on as if nothing had ever happened. "Anyway, we were wonderin' if you wanted to come along."

"Y'know, make us seem respectable and all," Martin joined in, crossing his arms over his chest. Eleanor suddenly had the most surreal mental image of her chaperoning the two paratroopers around Scotland and had to stifle her laughter with a smile.

"Aw, fellas, that's sweet," she said, meaning it - schemes to use her as a glorified tour girl aside, it was thoughtful of them to ask her to go with them. Still, she couldn't really see herself returning to the north to scout all the local pubs or whatever it was that the two of them had planned. "I'm sorry, I have some business to take care of in London."

Martin turned his classic_, _exasperated _what the hell is wrong with you _expression on her. "Honey, we have the week off," he said incredulously, "What could you _possibly_ have to do in London?"

She smiled. "Long story."

Guarnere snorted and downed the last of his drink. "I bet."

"And after that?" Martin pressed, shaking his head. Here they were, trying to be all nice and gentleman-like, and she was too busy despite being given time off?

"I don't know," she murmured, looking around the village green absentmindedly, "I might stick around Aldbourne for a bit."

"Hey, isn't Winters staying here, too?" Guarnere asked shrewdly, seeing far more than she would have liked him too. She kept her face carefully blank when she answered him.

"I'm not sure what the lieutenant's plans are, Bill, but I'm sure he'll be busy."

The two sergeants smirked. "Uh-huh."

Eleanor groaned, pushing herself off the wall. She had spotted the other officers in the distance and wanted to talk to them before she took the girls back to their billet. "Oh, don't start, you two."

"What?" Guarnere exclaimed, all faux-innocence, "We didn't say nothin'!"

"Right!" she laughed, patting his chiseled jaw consolingly and winking at Martin before turning to leave. "Oh, one last thing," she added at the last moment, "When in Scotland, if you see a man in a skirt- don't look under it."

"Huh?"

Smiling to herself, she set off towards where Nixon, Winters and Welsh were talking to their men. She watched the three of them interact as she walked, marveling at them silently. For all of their differences, they had two things in common: the first their mutual friendship, the second the unequivocal respect of the men. Though he was an officer, Harry understood the enlisted men, having quite literally fought his way up through the ranks; they liked him for his charm and sardonic sense of humor, and they esteemed him for his leadership. Nix, though he'd been at battalion for a long while now, still acted as if he were Easy Company, and she supposed he always would be at heart. The fact that he visited his old platoon from time to time went a long way in explaining why, of all the senior officers, he was thought of so highly. As for Dick - well - she had seen him in action and more than ever understood why the men talked about him the way they did. He was the elder brother they wanted to impress, the father they didn't want to let down, the icon they would always follow; he was almost God-like in their eyes, and yet never acted as anything other than a man. There was no other word to describe him than _good_ and the fact that he favored her the way he seemed to would likely never cease to amaze her. There was no denying she was very lucky in having the friends she did.

The band loped into "Victory Polka" as she rallied the three of them without too much trouble, buying Harry and Lew a beer and getting Dick a lemonade before settling down on the wooden bench in front of the churchyard. It was one of the quieter areas around town at the moment, but then that was rather precisely what Eleanor had envisaged when she had gone to find them. As much as she enjoyed the dancing, it was tranquil moments like these that she held closest to her heart.

"I sent my chute off to Kitty earlier," Harry announced, balancing precariously one of the arm rests of the bench, "The postman promised she'll have it within the month."

Eleanor smiled fondly, remembering how he had lugged his reserve chute with him all around Normandy just so he could send the silk material back home to his fiancee. He was a feisty thing, there was no doubt about it, but there was a softer side to him that she adored just as much.

"Hey, that's great," she said sincerely, brushing a stray hair out of her eyes, "Didn't charge you too much, I hope?"

"Nothing's too much when it comes to my girl," Harry retorted, almost dreamily, "She's going to be so excited when she opens it! What kind of design do you think she'll chose, Ellie? I've always liked those necklines on her- whaddya call 'em-"

"Jesus, Harry, enough already," Nix declared, and Eleanor laughed both at the prospect of discussing wedding dresses with the three of them and Lew's obvious annoyance at that same probability. They all knew Harry hardly ever shut up about Kitty once he started talking about her, and it seemed Nixon had at long last had enough.

"Yeah, Nix, and what are you going to do about it?" Welsh scowled, tone challenging. Nixon smirked.

"I don't know, we'll kidnap her and hold her to ransom, or something."

Eleanor and Harry turned to Dick expectantly, waiting to see what he would have to say about the matter. The redhead shrugged, lips quirking up the slightest bit. "Or something."

"Leave the man be, both of you," Eleanor chided playfully, coming to her friend's rescue, "I think she'll look beautiful no matter what, Harry."

"See? Right there?" the lieutenant said, pointing at her emphatically, "That's all I wanted to hear."

She raised her glass in a mock salute. "I aim to please. You boys get the week off as well?"

"We did," Nixon nodded, setting aside his already empty glass and picking up his hip flask instead; how he wasn't drunk off his face yet, she didn't know. "Never mind the Germans, London'll be overrun by GIs at this rate."

Winters, sitting next to Eleanor, wasn't as harsh in his assessment of the situation. "The men deserve some time off," he commented, concerned as always with the welfare of his company. Nixon threw up his hands in defense.

"Hey, far be it from me to disagree, but..."

"Oversexed, overpaid, over here?" Eleanor said, smiling as she cited the old saying. If the Londoners had thought it bad before, they were certainly in for a show now. Lew inclined his head at her and took a swig of whiskey.

"Precisely."

"What are your plans, Ellie?" Welsh asked, swatting at a fly and almost falling from his seat in the process. Two pairs of hands reached out to steady him and he was able to right himself with little more than a grumble and a bit of wounded pride as Eleanor pondered his question.

"I don't know," she said pensively, watching her team socialize with the men in the distance, "I suppose I'll have to figure out where my unit's headed first."

She felt Dick stiffen beside her and though his voice was as calm as ever, the tension in him was obvious. It took all of her self-control not take his hand in her own. "You think you'll be transferred to another regiment?"

"Or division," she sighed heavily, not too keen by any means to leave the 506th or even the 101st behind, "God knows."

Nixon had stopped drinking for a moment and was eyeing her warily. "Surely they wouldn't do that to you?"

The truth was Eleanor didn't know. Hell, she wasn't even really sure if she would stay with her team to begin with; she might be given a new one depending on what her next mission would be. Now that her career as an undercover was pretty much over, she was left in the unprecedented position of being a female officer with a triple threat of nursing, intelligence and combat experience under her belt. While she did not doubt she would be able to find employment - there would always be a need for experience, no matter what the exact assignment or circumstances - time would only tell where and with whom. A lot would depend on the upcoming few days and the next operations scheduled to take place.

"We'll see," she said, biting her lip, "Anyway, I guess I'll be sticking around Aldbourne for a bit." She turned to Harry. "What about you?"

"Ireland, to see relatives," he said, and Eleanor had to smile at the thought of the company leprechaun returning to his roots, "Haven't seen them since I was half a foot shorter."

Lew snorted. "No 'you've grown so much' comments for you then, huh?"

"Oh, shaddap, Lewis," Welsh groused amiably, "What corner of the world are you off to raise hell in?"

"Wherever the wind takes me," the intelligence officer declared casually, "Dick?"

Eleanor looked at him from the corner of her eyes and was glad to see him smile. "I think I'll stay here and let my leg heal," he mused, smile broadening when Eleanor laughed.

"Hear hear!"

"Got a lot of letters to write as well, and I expect the replacements'll be coming in soon."

_Ah, the new kids. They won't know what hit them, the poor things. _Part of her felt sorry for them; to come into an outfit as close as E Company wasn't going to be easy (no pun intended) and she was fairly certain there would be some serious hazing happening upon their arrival. Yet, at the same time, she understood the men's already reluctant attitude towards the newcomers. They would all be replacing good men, Toccoa men, and that was something none of them wanted to be reminded of.

"That sounds like fun," Nixon drawled sardonically, and Welsh nodded in agreement.

"Do wait until we get back before you start firing live ammo at them, will ya?"

"I will," Winters promised, "I'll need the machine gunners at any rate."

_Which reminds me..._ "When _is_ Gordon meant to be back?" Eleanor wondered, his cheerful little salute as he was taken away from Bloody Gulch flitting through her mind, "Or any of them, for that matter?"

"Not sure exactly. Sooner rather than later, hopefully."

"Be careful what you wish for," Eleanor told Dick, positive the men would already be running wild in whatever hospital was unfortunate enough to try and detain them, "Are they even being reassigned back to Easy?"

Lew nodded. "It's divisional policy to return men to their outfits once they've recovered."

"Yeah, they got some stuff right at least," Harry remarked darkly, making Eleanor smile. Honestly, the army wasn't all that bad. Given the scale of the invasion and all things considered, she thought they had really done rather well, though it seemed common practice to complain as much as possible regardless.

"And the rest they leave to fine gentlemen such as yourselves," she said sweetly, raising her glass in a toast, "Here's to you, fellas."

"Here's to us!"

It was a suitable ending to what had been an overall marvelous day, but as Eleanor looked around the men sitting with her - two her best friends, the other rapidly growing into something far more beloved - she could not help but feel a stab of anxiety, her smile dimming.

_What if I'm forced to leave - what would I ever do without them?_

_

* * *

_**And so we're back to England! Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, it was truly encouraging to get so many positive comments - I hope you've enjoyed this installment as well. :) **

**Next up: an old friend returns and Ellie makes a decision about her future... **


	21. London Pride

**Disclaimer: this story is based chiefly on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.**

**

* * *

**

Given her propensity for nightmares, waking up naturally - the gradual process towards consciousness, blinking drowsy eyes until the world came back into focus - was a blessing to Eleanor. The break of dawn two days after the regiment's return to Aldbourne was one of those rare, torment-free occasions and she took the time to languidly stretch her limbs, relishing the feel of clean sheets against her bare legs and smiling at the mild sunlight that filtered through the curtains. For a long moment, she was tempted to stay in bed; she was pleasantly warm and entirely too comfortable and didn't really feel like moving at all, but turning her head and beholding the empty dorms, she sighed and tossed her blanket aside anyway. _Onwards and upwards, my dear._

Running a hand through her hair as she got to her feet and went to fetch her clothes, she cringed when her own footsteps reverberated through the empty building. The girls had all left to explore the country and enjoy their free time, and while she was happy for them, she didn't much like the gaping silence that they left behind. It was strange not to have other people around at any given time of day; where she had previously longed for small moments of solitude, she now found herself missing the quiet chatter and companionship of her team. _Guess we don't really know what we have until it's gone, _she mused with a rueful smile, cracking her spine. _Silly, when you think about it. _Shutting her footlocker, her eyes were drawn to the gramophone that had been placed on her desk and the stack of records next to it. Perhaps there was a cure for the lonely hush after all.

Uniform hung over her arm, she rifled through the records steadily, discarding each choice - too loud, too upbeat, too saccharine - until she struck gold. _Tchaikovsky's Sleeping Beauty._ The vinyl was on the machine in an instant and she closed her eyes, heaving a contented sigh as the needle scratched into the dulcet opening notes of the introduction. _Perfect. _She made her way to the bathroom with the odd pirouette, taking some small, inane pleasure in knowing that her old teacher would have had a fit had she seen her dance without warming up properly. How long had it even been since she had heard music like this? A long while, certainly. Ballet didn't really mix with war very well and the most dancing she had done recently was the odd jitterbug or waltz with the boys.

She showered and braided her hair, opening the curtains of the classroom and making her bed to the sound of the _panorama_, flexing her legs and training muscles long out of use. The off-duty dress she changed into was still a little big on her - it would be a while before she got her old figure back - but the loose fit wasn't unwelcome to someone who would be restricted by a tailored uniform for the rest of the day. Waltzing into the kitchen, still barefoot, she came face to face with her biggest challenge of the morning: preparing breakfast. Betty, having noticed her apprehension at the notion of cooking, had discreetly taught her a trick or two before she left but it was still very little to go on. _Right. Let's see... dried egg powder. Milk. Scrambled eggs? Surely that can't be too hard..._

The music had come to an end by the time she'd gotten the mixture into a frying pan and was trying her best not to let her breakfast burn. A knock on the doorframe alerted her to another's presence and she turned around to see Dick Winters smiling at her. "Morning."

"Hey!" she greeted him happily, distracted long enough that her eggs charred and started smoking. Eyes widening at the sudden stench, she whirled back around just in time to see them turn an interesting shade of black. "Oh, no-" she squeaked, trying to salvage them but soon realizing they were altogether too far gone. Behind her, Dick had started laughing helplessly as he walked over towards her, glancing over her shoulder to see the damage for himself.

"Would you stop laughing?" she glared at him in a vain attempt at saving her dignity, throwing the singed remains into a bin. She disliked wasting stuff but downright _hated_ being made fun of.

"You burned scrambled eggs," he noted with a grin, crossing his arms, as though that explained the problems of the world at large. Setting the pan down, she mirrored his pose, scowling.

"So?"

His smile softened and he reached for what was left of the mixture. "Here, let me," he offered, stirring the liquid before re-oiling the pan and pouring it in. She felt her bout of irritation melt away and shook her head with a chuckle, watching him scramble the eggs expertly, affection stirring in her heart.

"Did your mom never teach you how to cook?" he asked, turning off the heat and giving the food a final whisk. Eleanor huffed a laugh, amused by the mere idea of her darling mama trying to cook for herself.

"I'm pretty sure she would have burned those eggs worse than I did."

"Really?" Winters said, surprised, and it was once again brought home to her how different their upbringings must have been. Her family'd had staff for as long as she remembered; based on what she knew of Dick's background, it seemed likely he would have had his chores cut out for him since an early age. She had been going to balls as a debutante when he was a freshman in a small college somewhere in Pennsylvania. To him, the countryside meant farms and industry; to her, it meant - or at least used to mean - hunting parties and weekends away. It was funny, really, how they had so little and yet so much in common.

"Hm," she murmured, grabbing a fork and smiling in thanks as he passed her a plate of what looked to be perfect eggs. She leaned against the counter and tried an experimental bite - it was a little salty, though that was her own fault rather than his for having seasoned the mixture too early - but it was more than edible and a lot better than she could have ever whipped up herself.

"Ugh, you're a godsend," she groaned around mouthfuls of food, looking at him gratefully as he went to make himself a cup of coffee. It felt almost domestic, the two of them sharing a quiet breakfast like this; it was a little frightening how easily she could imagine herself getting used to it. She never felt more normal, more hopeful than when she was with him, but the knowledge that the war was never faraway lingered on the edge of her mind like an ever-present shadow.

"Couldn't yet you starve, could I?" his voice brought her out of her temporary muddle of thoughts, and she smiled, pretending to consider the question - which had in all truth been intended as more of a statement - for a moment.

"Well," she said, tilting her head, "You _could_ have, but then you'd have probably had to endure General Taylor's wrath."

Winters set down his cup and reclined against the counter opposite her with a smile. "It's Sink I'm worried about."

"Touche!" she laughed, pointing at him with her fork playfully. She munched on her breakfast, genuinely thoughtful now - there was little sound to be heard outside besides the birds in the trees and the occasional vehicle rolling past. Aldbourne had emptied out soon after the announcement had been made that all personnel would be getting the week off and there were only a few Americans left at this point. The village had almost returned to the tranquil little hamlet it must have once been, and it was more than a little odd.

"Town's awful quiet," she remarked, looking out of the window at the fields stretching on outside. Dick shrugged.

"It's a nice change."

"The lack of gunfire certainly is," Eleanor said wryly. It was the people she missed, to be sure, not the continuous roar of explosions and artillery in the distance. She'd had a lifetime's worth of it already, perhaps more. "Are you going to headquarters later?"

"Yes," Winters nodded, glancing at her over the rim of his mug as he recognized the unspoken request, "D'you want to come along?"

"Why, how'd you guess?" she drawled, grinning cheekily, glad he had caught on and she wouldn't be alone for the rest of the day. He shook his head with a fond chuckle and bent down to kiss her cheek before moving to wash his cup.

"Eat your eggs."

"Yes, _dear._"

She hummed quietly to herself as they cleaned up, working together as easily as if they had never done anything else.

_Strange, dear, but true, dear; when I'm close to you, dear, the stars fill the sky..._

It alarmed her how quickly she had fallen, how difficult it had become to picture life without him. There were so many things that could happen or go wrong. For all she knew, she might be forced to leave tomorrow or he might be killed on their next mission. Theirs was a life of uncertainty, yet war had a way of putting things into perspective. Perhaps it really was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. She knew, at any rate, that she could not bring herself to leave him now and that as much as it scared her, little moments like these might just make it worth it.

_You know, darling, why; so in love with you am I._

_

* * *

_

The old manor that housed the regimental headquarters was only a little busier than Aldbourne itself when Dick and Ellie arrived. They were greeted by Moose Heyliger and another one of the Baker Company lieutenants who, having reached the building just before them, were finishing up their cigarettes outside; it seemed they were planning to go to Southampton and were waiting to receive their passes. _The beach, _Eleanor thought wistfully, knowing she'd have work to do, _must be nice. _After a brief chat and an exchange of pleasantries, the couple headed upstairs.

"I'm thinking of making Lipton first sergeant when he comes back from the hospital," Winters pondered out loud, entering what had once been Sobel's and briefly Meehan's office before it had passed on to him, "He's tough. Smart. Dependable. One hell of an NCO."

Eleanor, following in his wake, nodded and smiled at the thought of their friend being promoted. "The men all like him, that's for sure," she commented, perching on the end of Dick's desk as he sat down behind it, "He's a good choice."

Winters' answer was interrupted by a knock on the door. He frowned, exchanging a look with Eleanor - neither of them were expecting anyone, especially not this soon - and called for whomever was outside to enter.

The first thing Eleanor noticed was that the visitor was wearing blue, quickly followed by the observation that it was in fact a uniform and the discernment that none of the US military branches wore this particular shade. _Royal Air Force. What's a British flyboy doing here? _She blinked. _Hold on..._

"Oh-" the man exclaimed upon spotting Winters, "I'm sorry, sir, I was told Captain Fairfax-"

"Archie?" Eleanor asked, astounded; it had been over a month since she had last seen him. She hadn't even known he was alive until that very moment. Seeing him in Aldbourne was a surprise, to say the least.

"Ma'am!" the junior operative said cheerfully, grinning broadly. She was no less confused than she had been before.

"What are you doing here?"

"Why, I came to see you, ma'am," he explained, shifting his hat underneath his arm and extending his free hand to her, "Let you know I made it out alive and the like."

"Yeah, that's-" Eleanor said, shaking her head as well as his hand, "Wow. That's great." It _was_ good to see him again; they had gotten fairly close during their time in France despite her initial misgivings. Part of her felt guilty it hadn't even occurred to her to check on him yet.

"Sorry, you caught me by surprise," she apologized, suddenly remembering Dick was in the room as well and that an introduction was already overdue, "Archie, this is Captain Richard Winters - Dick, this is Lieutenant Archibald Chadwick with the Special Operations Executive. We worked together in Normandy."

The two men shook hands. "Pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise."

Silence lapsed momentarily and Eleanor cleared her throat quickly. _Before things get too awkward... _"I'm sure we have a lot to talk about," she said to Archie, lightly touching his elbow and beginning to steer him towards the door, "Shall we?"

They were barely in the hallway and the door _certainly _wasn't closed when her friend turned to her, eyes gleaming with mischief and just a hint of nosiness. "That's him, isn't it?" he asked excitedly, smirk an acute reminder of why she'd had her reservations about him when they'd first met, "That's-"

The touch on his elbow became forceful as she closed the door behind them. "Let's go, Lieutenant Chadwick."

* * *

She all but dragged him along outside, preferring the privacy of the manor grounds to the heightened chances of being overheard within the headquarters. It was logical, really, that Archie would have noticed something; he wasn't an agent for nothing, and he was a damned good one at that. His observational skills rivaled her own. Stalking down the gravel path towards the hedge-enclosed fountain, however, she paid little heed to him as he called after her and was forced to jog to catch up.

"Tell me you've kissed him, at least," he pressed, infuriating grin still firmly in place, "A peck on the cheek? No?" She remained obstinately silent, glad to find the gardens were as abandoned as she had hoped they would be, but the British lieutenant was relentless.

"Oh, come on, give me _something_!"

Eleanor rolled her eyes. His resemblance to the pesky kid brother spying at you from their bedroom window was becoming uncanny. "Archie, you should know better than to ask."

He huffed a laugh. "Please, we shared a bed for two whole months," he pointed out, "I think I've earned the right."

"A lady never kisses and tells," she sighed, rubbing a weary hand across her temple. _How do I get him to shut up again? I'd gotten so good at it before..._

No such luck this time, however; his eyes were already taking on a cheeky glint. "Ah, so there _was_ kissing then, was there?" he asked slyly, beaming triumphantly when she flushed scarlet. She had to admit he'd gotten the best of her there, but it didn't mean she had to like it.

"Archie!"

"Sorry, sorry," he apologized quickly, appraising her for a moment. She looked well. Even in Normandy he had guessed there was something - _someone_ - she had grown partial to and missed, as much as she'd liked to deny it. The tender familiarity he had observed in the brief moments between her and the redheaded captain was all he had needed to figure out he was the one. There was something upstanding about the Yank, a hushed sort of integrity in the way he carried himself; he seemed all at once very different and vastly similar to her.

"He seems like a good man," Archie remarked cautiously, relieved when her previous scowl morphed into the barest hint of a smile.

"He is," she said quietly, nearly to herself, "The best I've ever met."

"You're not half-bad yourself, Captain," the lieutenant retorted, offering her his arm so they could continue their stroll around the garden, "In fact, the latest gossip has it London is thinking of awarding you an MBE."

Eleanor felt herself startle; being made a member of the Order of the British Empire - an order of chivalry established around the time of the great war - was no small honor and one she hadn't thought to be offered, though perhaps not for the reasons one might assume. "Huh," she said, pensively, "I thought I'd pissed them off enough last time to stop them from doing that."

Her friend frowned down at her. "'Last time'?" he asked, evidently puzzled by her ambiguity.

"They tried to give me one after Vichy," she explained, shaking her head as she remembered her utter shock at receiving the notification, "I turned it down."

"What in God's name did you do that for?" Archie exclaimed, incredulous. There weren't a great many people who turned down honors from the empire, no matter what the cause. It was pretty bold of Eleanor to have done so.

She merely shrugged. "Didn't feel like I'd deserved it." As irreverent as it might seem to others, it was the truth. As much as she had suffered and endured during her time in occupied and Vichy France, she had always thought of it as her job; as her duty. She was aware of other agents - newer agents, those that had come in after her - accepting similar laurels as the one she'd been offered and she didn't blame them for it, but it wasn't for her.

"What?" Archie declared, sounding practically insulted, "That's preposterous. Vichy nearly killed you twice over."

"I was just doing what I was supposed to, Archie," she said flatly, stubbornly, "No more, no less. Besides, they gave me a distinguished service cross - it was plenty then and it's plenty now."

"You've been with the executive for almost four years," the lieutenant countered, "You practically formed it into what it is today."

"That's nonsense and you know it."

Chadwick groaned. "Do you really believe the maquis would have been as well supplied as they are today if it hadn't been for you and Commander Yeo-Thomas?" he queried, "What about the training protocols? They're all based on your experiences."

"My mistakes, you mean," she corrected him, grimacing. Sure, the new procedures were partially based on what she had gone through, but that was mostly because she had been one of the first agents in the field and had encountered all of the problems that had come with that dubious honor. It was only logical the organization should learn from past errors.

"Call them what you like, but a whole new generation of operatives is being trained on them," Archie said sincerely, twisting to grab her by the shoulders and look her in the eye, "And speaking as one of said new generation, we all look up to you, ma'am. You're long over due for some proper acknowledgment."

She looked away from his intense gaze uncomfortably, lips pressed together. It was good to know people were able to learn from what she'd done - really, it was - but an award for gallantry seemed a little extravagant nonetheless.

"The only reason you haven't received any yet is because you chose to work for the Yanks," Archie continued, giving up on trying to get through to her and ambling on instead. She had to smile at the lingering lack of cooperation between her two home countries; staging an invasion together apparently didn't mean they had to agree on everything.

"So much for playing nice with our Allies, huh?"

"Honestly, I think the executive just wants you back," Archie said, "They'd probably make it an OBE if you'd return and let them promote you to commander."

Eleanor exhaled slowly. There it was: the inevitable issue of where she would go from here. Eyes wandering around the compound she spotted a handful of officers lounging about one of the terraces and felt her heart seize within her. "I don't know if I can leave these men, Archie," she murmured, "I really don't."

The lieutenant arched an eyebrow at her. "Men plural or man singular?"

He received a resounding thwack against the chest in retaliation.

* * *

After traversing the length and breadth of the grounds twice over, catching up and discussing the future, Eleanor went with Archie to see him off. He would be redeployed to France soon - this time in charge of his own team - and it was unlikely they would meet again anytime soon if indeed at all. Forgoing their customary handshake with a rush of affection, she embraced him tightly as the old bus drew closer in the distance. In spite of his over-enthusiasm and occasionally grating eagerness, he was a good man and a good friend; she could not help but wish they had met under different circumstances. As it was, she had another name firmly stuck on the list of people to worry about.

She was intercepted by a rushed-looking private on the way back to headquarters. "Captain Fairfax?"

"Hey, Vest," she said, returning his salute with a smile; she was fond of the battalion mailman with the goofy ears. "What are you still doing here?"

"There's a lotta backlog that needs sorting, ma'am," he answered, rummaging through a stack of envelopes as he walked along with her, "Figured I might as well get it done now."

"Commendable work ethic," she praised, genuinely impressed. She knew for a fact that some of the other enlisted men with logistical tasks had skipped town as quickly as possible. "What do you need from me?"

"Actually, I have something for you, ma'am," Vest said, fishing a decent sized package out of the pile in his arms and handing it to her, "Must've arrived a couple of weeks ago."

"Oh," she said, turning the large envelope over in astonishment, "Thanks Allen." The scrawled address on the back was unmistakably her brother's and for a fleeting moment she felt like a child again, giddy with anticipation over the item that had arrived especially for her. She hadn't heard from Philip since before her first stint in Normandy and had only managed to write him back after she had arrived in Aldbourne a year ago; it had been even longer since she had last seen him. To hear from him now was a welcome surprise.

"No problem," Vest was saying, seeing she was engrossed by the mail and deciding that was his cue to back out, "See you around, ma'am."

"Yeah..." she responded vaguely, looking up only in time to see him leave and deciding to head towards the edge of the gardens instead. Passing by the flower beds, the scent of roses weaving around her, she peeled back the wrappings to reveal a record. _The Best Of Cajun Music: Parlez-Nous à Boire And Other Classics, _it read, and she grinned in amusement. Leave it to Philip to send her something so utterly random and delightful.

Sitting down on the grassy slope that marked the boundary between the estate and the meadows surrounding it, she unfolded the letter that came with the music and began to read.

_My darling sister,_

_Let me begin by saying it's about time you wrote me back - it's only been five years since we saw one another! I was starting to think you had forgotten about me entirely. Imagine my relief when your letter arrived at last._

_Though I was surprised to hear of your decision to transfer to the US Army, I do not doubt you have your reasons - and of course we are all under one command these days, so I suppose it matters little. Those paratroopers of yours are certainly a tough bunch if rumors are to be believed. Naturally, we poor civilians know few details of what is going on overseas, but I do not doubt you are on the front with them somewhere as you read this. Do be careful, Nell. I'm sure they are worthy men who deserve your care, but while I might be able to forgive you for not writing more often, I don't know if I could pardon you for dying._

_Life here is much as it was. The factory is doing well and I still meet up with the old chums from New Haven every once in a while. I've applied to the OCS twice over since our last correspondence - I even tried to enlist - but they won't have me no matter what I try. I can't seem to pass the damn medical exam; you know how it is with these bloody lungs of mine. As much as it hurts me to say it, contributing to our stockpile shall have to be my part in the war effort. You will have to do your duty for the both of us._

_You will be appalled to hear I seem to have gone positively Yankee as of late. Rose - you remember Rose, don't you? She worked for mummy and daddy while we were in Lafayette. I seem to recall you making rather a fuss about taking her and the rest of the staff who couldn't support themselves along to Washington when we moved; you really are dreadfully sentimental sometimes, you know that? I ran into her somewhere downtown the other day, quite by accident, and for the longest time she thought I was papa. Fancy that! She was out of a job at the time and of course I insisted she come work for me on the estate - I must say I never saw someone so grateful and eager as she was at that moment. _

_Anyway, she insists I sound more and more like a southern gentleman by the day. It is highly amusing, really. God knows a proper cup of tea is hard enough to come by around here! I do miss England, and I do miss you too, sister. When this awful war is over, I'll come to London and you can tell me all about your adventures as a nurse. I'm sure there'll be plenty of stories to tell. We'll meet again some sunny day- that's how the song goes, isn't it? Until then, I hope you might find a way of enjoying the little present I'm sending along with this message - the locals here seem very fond of it - and will think of your silly little brother in the depths of Cajun country from time to time. Keep safe, Nell._

_With all my love,_

_Your brother,_

_Philip_

Eleanor sighed, pressing the letter against her chest and staring out over the rolling hills of the countryside. She hadn't realized just how much she truly missed her brother, caught up in her own business as she had been, but the truth of it was that he was her only living relative left besides a few aloof aunts and uncles. Philip had always been a sickly child, forever struggling with asthma and other ailments, resulting in a fierce kind of protectiveness his sister held for him. His letter was a poignant reminder of her love for him and their shared past, the endless games and stories of simpler times. She recalled clearly now how her six-year-old self had clung to Rose's skirts and the subsequent triumph she had felt when the woman had been allowed to come along to the capital, unknowing that they would be forced to dismiss her only years later when the family moved to Europe. Their arrival in London after her father's passing, all of them eager for a new start, and the speed with which she had fallen in love with the city; the way the wind had stirred the black lace of her veil at their mother's funeral not long after, her death leaving the two of them orphans at the respective ages of eighteen and seventeen. The memories returned to her like ghosts. Most of all, she remembered how Philip had clung to her when he had announced he would be moving to New England for university and how heartbroken she had been to hear him say it. At the time, their separation had seemed almost impossible, and yet now there were thousands of miles between them and he had no idea what she even did for a living. _God, how things have changed._

More painful perhaps was the realization that she had been more than just an operative once, before she had let the job consume her and it had for all intents and purposes become her life. She knew she would no longer be able to work as a spy, was well aware that she had effectively blown what little cover she'd had left, but where then did that leave her? Was she an intelligence officer, a doctor in training turned nurse, or going even further back than that, no more than a jumped up socialite? Would she even be capable of being more than a woman-at-arms and would the men still accept her despite it all?

Her dark thoughts were interrupted by a voice calling her name; looking up, she recognized one of Sink's aides standing a little ways away, seeming hesitant, and coughed into her hand. "What is it, private?"

"The colonel wants to see you, ma'am."

Climbing to her feet and brushing the dirt off her skirt, she followed the soldier back inside, clinging to the record as if it was her brother himself. _Time to face the music, Nell.  
_

_

* * *

_

She had barely taken a seat and Sink was already pouring her a glass of bourbon. This was either a very bad sign or a very good one; she couldn't quite decide which, especially not when the colonel referred to Archie as "that scrawny English fellow" who had dropped off a letter for him before going to see her. Sipping at the liquor, she braced herself for whatever would be next as the regimental CO sat down across from her.

"So the Limeys want to give you a title."

"Not quite, sir," she smiled, diverted by his misconception of what an MBE entailed, "It's- complicated."

"Well, whatever it is," Sink grumbled, scowling, "They're sure as hell trying to rope you back to their side."

_As Archie suspected, then, and it seems the good colonel isn't happy with it. _She had known there were differences of opinion between the two countries, but since when had they reverted to having opposing factions? "Isn't their side our side as well, sir?"

"Tell that to them," Sink said, picking up a letter from his desk and jabbing a finger at it before passing it to her. She scanned it rapidly, eyes widening at its contents.

"In addition to this... accolade," the superior officer continued, "They're offering you a promotion and a pick of assignments." Looking up at him over the paper, Eleanor was somewhat alarmed to see him shake his head resignedly. "It's a goddamn good offer, kid."

She handed the letter back to him, biting her lip. This complicated matters only further. "I know it is, sir."

Sink took the note from her, glancing at her through narrowed eyes. "And yet you're hesitant," he noted, voice oddly gentle as he sat back in his chair, "What's on your mind, Eleanor?"

"Nothing, sir," she began, hesitating, "It's just-" She sighed, running a hand along the smooth surface of her glass. How to begin to explain how she felt about the whole situation? Thinking back to a few nights ago, she was suddenly reminded of something Lew had said. "There's a reason the 101st doesn't reassign its men unless strictly necessary, sir, if you know what I mean."

"I think I do," Sink nodded, taking a long drink from his own bourbon, "If it makes any difference, General Taylor wants to keep you on as an intelligence liaison regardless of our next mission."

Eleanor felt part of the tension drain from her, glad to know that no matter what she decided she would at least be able to stay with the 101st. "That's very generous of him, sir."

"He's loathe to see you go, as am I," the colonel said, pouring out another measure of drink before leveling her with a stern look, "But this is your cross to bear, captain. Your decision to make."

_In other words, do make up your mind. Fair enough. _"I understand, sir."

"Good," he said firmly, "Now, the Brits are expecting you in London the day after tomorrow. Go talk to them, see what they have to say."

"Yes sir."

"And accept that damn citation while you're at it, would you?" he added, pulling out one of the drawers of his desk and rifling through it.

"I will, sir," she promised, not about to disobey him. She frowned when she saw he had taken out not one but two passes to sign. _What on earth..._ "Sir, those are two-"

He raised a hand to silence her, pen stuck between his fingers. "I want you to take Captain Winters with you. He could do with a break."

_You wily bastard, _she thought, flabbergasted, opening her mouth to protest only to see him raise his bristled eyebrows as if daring her to object. Her cheeks heated. "Yes sir."

* * *

Sure enough, Eleanor returned to London not two days after her meeting with Sink. Following a lengthy ceremony and more hollow well wishes and prying questions than she cared to count, she had one rose-pink ribbon and badge in a box and another, smaller ribbon of the same color pinned to her uniform. It had taken some considerable consideration to resolve the matter of what livery to wear; in the end, she had chosen her ANC Class A's, something that had gained her more than a few dubious looks from the Brits but was really rather reasonable if one took into account that she technically still worked for the Americans. By the time the observances were over at last, General Gubbins - chief director of the Special Operations Executive and an old acquaintance - offered to see her out.

"So, Captain," he said conversationally as they left the single reception room in the whole of the building, "I think it will come as no surprise when I ask you to consider returning to the SOE."

_No kidding. _"It doesn't, sir."

"No," the man agreed, smiling slightly, "The fact of the matter is, Eleanor, we're spread bloody thin. Some our best agents have been captured and with the Allied advance extending every which way, we need all the help we can get."

"I understand, sir," she nodded, folding her hands behind her back as they walked down the corridors, "If I were to return, what would you have me do?"

"Given your record, anything you'd want," he said, and she had to admit it was tempting. She remembered her frustration in Normandy at often lacking the bigger picture of certain situations; this opportunity might just mean she could remain at the very heart of things and know exactly what was going on where at any given time.

"We're aware that your ability to work as an undercover has been compromised," the general continued and she barely kept herself from cringing when he said it. She had known, of course, but to hear it being said out loud was somehow far worse. "But there are other options. Training new recruits. Working as a liaison. It's up to you."

"What about my team?" she asked, not even sure herself if she meant her girls in Aldbourne or whatever new group she might potentially be working with. Gubbins obviously assumed the latter.

"You can choose whomever you like. Say the word and we'll arrange it."

"And promote me along the way?" she smiled wryly. This whole business of the two countries trying to out bid one another was starting to become quite entertaining.

"Certainly," Gubbins said jovially, motioning for her to go ahead and descend the stairs ahead of him, "Commander Fairfax has a nice ring to it, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well then, shall we go to my office and sort out the details?"

She halted at the bottom of the staircase, nodding her head politely at the people passing by, and waited for the director to join her. "I never said I'd do it."

The silence around the foyer was instantaneous and more than a little awkward, but after a stern look from Gubbins, people went about their business again - though the whispers didn't stop. "Beg pardon?" the general asked, sounding perplexed, "Is this your misplaced loyalty to the Yanks again?"

"I hardly think it's misplaced, sir," she said, affronted, less than pleased by the way he seemed intent on belittling her attachment to the 101st. While they might not be able to offer her much in terms of commendations, they had been good to her and she wasn't about to forget it.

"What are they offering you that we're not?" Gubbins wanted to know, "Name it and we'll top it."

Eleanor sighed. "That's not what this is about, sir. I need a while to think it over."

"A while to-" he blurted, lowering his voice when he realized there were others around, "This is war, captain. This is neither the time nor place to dawdle."

_Oh, for crying out loud. _"I hardly think the Allied advance will fall apart if I take some time to consider my choice," she said tersely. She was only one person. What difference would her absence make? If she were that important, what the hell had they been planning to do had she been killed?

"Christ, old girl, where has your sense of duty gone off to?" Gubbins declared, and _that_ pissed her off more than anything; he toned down the volume of his words even further until he was all but whispering. "Look, if it's the OBE you want-"

"Due respect," she snapped, "If I'd wanted praise and a couple of fancy additions to my name, I would have married a nobleman at seventeen and saved my mother a lot of headaches. I didn't. I chose to serve. I've given nearly four years of my life and the better part of my sanity to this organization, so please do not talk to me about duty." There was a beat of silence as the two of them stared at each other, seizing the other up, and then Eleanor registered just how out of line she had been and added a hasty "Sir."

Gubbins was still looking at her suspiciously. "Why should we grant you the time you're requesting?" he asked her, "What's in it for us?"

"The possibility that I might return," she retorted candidly, "You need me. I _know_ that you need me."

"And what if you decide to stay with the Americans?"

"Then I will still be serving the Allied cause to the best of my ability. So you see, sir, everybody wins." She shook her head, silently begging for a little more time. _Please, have mercy. Don't make me leave without getting to say goodbye. _"A few weeks. That's all I'm asking for."

The general scowled but inclined his head. "Granted," he said gruffly, "But I am your first telephone call, is that understood?"

"Yes sir," she breathed, shaking his hand, "Thank you, sir."

The two parted ways and Eleanor, glancing at her watch, saw she had a little time left before she was meant to be outside. "Excuse me?" she asked the receptionist near the door, remembering that she had spotted another familiar and much more beloved face in the crowd earlier, "Could I just ask- is Leo Marks still around?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am," the woman behind the desk said, peering at her from behind horn-rimmed glasses, "He was called away on urgent business not too long ago."

"I see," Eleanor said regretfully, smiling vaguely at the stranger before turning to leave, "Thank you."

* * *

The captain's bars on her garrison cap gleamed as Eleanor put it back on, hopping down the steps of the Baker Street building the SOE used as its headquarters. To the side of the stairs, Dick Winters was already waiting for her, engrossed in one of the local newspapers; he was early. _Of course he's early. This is Dick Winters we're talking about._

"Hello."

He looked up, folding away the paper when he saw her. "Hello," he smiled, eyes automatically drawn to the new ribbon and flicking up rapidly when he realized that he had just inadvertently stared at her chest. He cleared his throat. "How'd it go?"

"As expected," she said curtly, fighting down the immature urge to grab his hand and just run away. It would make life so much easier to disappear, to just run away and hide._ A girl can dream._

"Meaning?" he asked, eyebrows furrowing though the smile stayed in place.

"Meaning it went as expected," she said, regretting her brusque tone when he nodded slowly and the smile faded. _Don't take it out on him. It's not his fault. _Whilst running away was not an option, they did have a few hours left before they needed to return to base. The least they could do was have a look around.

"Come on," she bid quietly, taking his arm, "I want to show you my city."

_In our city, darkened now, street and square and crescent, we can feel our living past in our shadowed present..._

It was strange, really, being in London with Dick; it was another incident in a long row of recent clashes between her past and present (_and_, some carefully hidden part of her added silently, _future_) and while she had expected it to make her feel uneasy, it did quite the opposite. They moved slowly, his leg still a tad sore from that ricochet in France, the sensation of being just another wartime couple wandering the streets together inexplicably comforting to her. She led them towards Kensington Gardens, bypassing the Italian fountains until they came to the banks of the Serpentine pond. There were victory gardens and other bits of mid-city farming on the other side of the park, she knew, but this area remained largely untouched and idyllic; it wasn't all that different from what she remembered it to be. It was a little piece of the England she knew and loved and tugged at her heart strings persistently, reminding her that this, right here, was what she had once signed up for to preserve and keep safe. In some ways, her wishes hadn't changed all that much. She couldn't bear the thought of the park ever being overrun by German jackboots.

"Who's this?" Winters asked, pointing at a bronze statue of a little boy with a flute that was tucked away in a little glade besides the pond. Eleanor smiled.

"Peter Pan, of course," she said, touching the cool metal fondly. It was a charming figurine and one that had been unceasingly popular with the children of the city; it was sad to see it so abandoned now that there were so few of them around.

"Really?" Dick commented, stepping closer to inspect it, "From the children's book?"

"Yes," she responded, glancing at him from behind the bronze, "It's a sweet story. They put it up in secret, at night, and the author published an announcement in The Times the next morning saying that there'd be a surprise waiting for the kids in the park."

"I never knew," the redhead chuckled, his fingers brushing hers where they rested on the mermaid-adorned pedestal, "I read all the books when I was younger."

Giving the statue one final pat, she continued on along the lake, her shoulder nearly touching Winters' when he came to walk besides her. "Were you one of those boys who never wanted to grow up?" she wondered, trying to picture what he would have looked like as a child. _Tall. Perhaps a little gangly. Wise for his age to be certain._

"No. I just thought he was clever."

She hummed thoughtfully, smiling, closing her eyes as she turned her face towards the warmth of the sun. It was another lovely summer's day; the usual smog had all but lifted, giving the city a much needed breath of air. Many seemed to share that sentiment, however: the park was uncommonly busy.

"It used to be a lot quieter around here," she mused, bending down to touch the water of the round pond as they approached it, watching the liquid ripple away from her fingertips.

Winters nodded. "I can imagine."

"My brother and I came here very summer after we moved to London," she recalled warmly, looking at a handful of children splashing water at each other giddily much to the exasperation of their mother, "We had this little model boat that our father made for us - before he died, obviously. We would let it sail on here, even though we must have already been fifteen, sixteen at the time."

"What was the boat called?"

"His Majesty's Ship Adventure," Eleanor grinned, lowering herself next to Dick on the stone rim of the pool, "Creative, I know."

"Hey, far be it from me to judge," he shrugged, surreptitiously shifting closer to her, "I had a hobby horse called Blackie."

"Because he was black?"

"No. He was made of brown felt. I just liked the name."

"Fair enough," Eleanor smiled, watching two mounted policemen go by, "My pony in France was Bucephalus."

"Like Alexander the Great's horse?"

"Yes, but far tamer!" she laughed, recalling the sweet old palfrey she'd ridden and spoiled for years, "In my defense, he actually _was_ black with a white star on his head."

"You had a real live horse growing up?" he asked, unable to keep the amazement out of his voice, and she looked at him sheepishly; it hadn't occurred to her how spoiled that must have sounded. To her endless relief, he merely smiled. "And yet you didn't call him Black Beauty."

"Oh, no," she said, shaking her head decidedly, "I was always a fan of the classics."

"Tell me, O Muse, of that ingenious hero..." he recited, the soft rumble of his voice making her heart skip a beat. _Christ, he could read the most boring of manuals to me and chances are I'd still be enthralled._

"You know your Odyssey," she observed, pleased, "I'm impressed, although I have to say I prefer Pope's translation. It's much more lyrical."

"I'm not familiar with it," he said, the last part of the sentence not quite lilting into a sentence. She was happy to oblige in acquainting him with it.

"The man for wisdom's various arts renown'd, long exercised in woes, O Muse! resound," she quoted, presenting him with a different version of the same excerpt. Winters considered it for a moment and smiled.

"I can see why you like it," he agreed, face brightening almost comically when he saw an ice cream vendor headed their way. "_Oh_."

Eleanor smiled broadly, infinitely endeared by his penchant for the stuff and ill-concealed excitement at the sight of the kiosk. "Do you want to get some ice cream?"

"Do we have time to?" he asked, hesitant, and she laughed as she got up.

"Plenty."

When their ice creams were gone they ambled on towards Kensington's museum area, a companionable silence stretching on between them until Winters, regarding Eleanor closely, spoke up. "You know..." he said, smiling as she looked at him, "It's not hard to imagine you here. London suits you."

She returned his smile. "I shall take that as a compliment."

"It was intended as one."

"Thank you!" She nodded at an air raid warden who, standing in front of his shelter, tipped his tin helmet at her. _Perhaps he's right. London's as damaged as I am, but we're both still here. We've both made it through this far. _

"I wish you could see it without the damage," she said quietly.

"Maybe I will someday."

"Maybe," she repeated doubtfully. Who was to say if either of them would ever be back?

"Do you miss it?" he asked tentatively, gazing around the stately old buildings surrounding them before glancing back at her.

"No," she answered without thinking, then shook her head. "Yes? I guess I do. It's not-" she bit her lip, "It's not _home_ anymore."

"Then what is?"

"I don't rightly know," she sighed, "I haven't known since I first returned to France. Those few months..."

"Ellie," he interrupted her gently, "You don't have to tell me."

She smiled wanly, aware he had made a point of letting her know he cared for her regardless of her past. It was sweet of him and she appreciated his lack of questions, but if this was going to work - whatever 'this' was - they were going to have to be honest with each other, and she had yet to live up to that concept. Besides, he deserved to know; she had been willing to tell him before and that hadn't changed. If anything, she felt more than ever compelled to come clean.

"I want to," she whispered, and his fingers linked with hers instinctively, neither of them caring about propriety or the fact that everyone in the street could see them at that very moment. Taking a deep breath, she began her story and told him everything: memories of her childhood, her years in Paris in London, feeling like her brother left because the hospital took up so much of her time, being recruited by the Special Operations and the ensuing missions - all of it. It was as though a weight was slowly being lifted from her shoulders, Winters' steady presence at her side supporting her throughout, nothing but compassion and admiration shining in his blue eyes.

He never once let go of her hand.

_Ghosts beside our our starlit Thames, who lived and loved and died, keep throughout the ages London pride._

_

* * *

_

Their hands were still intertwined as as they walked home from the bus stop hours later, kissing each other good night under the light of the first stars, and for a while she could almost pretend they were just any other young and infatuated couple. She watched him go from the doorway of Saint Michael's, shoulders sagging as she leaned against the frame. _A few weeks. That's all I'm asking for._ What if it wasn't enough? How would she ever be able to chose between the country that she had served so faithfully and the men she had come to love so rapidly?

He looked back at her over his shoulder and she smiled faintly, waving a little when his own lips quirked up at seeing her standing there still. It wasn't until he turned a corner and disappeared from sight that she ran a tremulous hand through her hair, sighing heavily, and turned to go inside.

The nightmares returned in force that night.

* * *

**Wew, I seem to be on a bit of a roll... :) Thank you so much to all of you who reviewed the last chapter - I'm ever so glad to hear you're still enjoying the story and do hope you'll stay tuned! **


	22. Always In My Heart

**Disclaimer: this story is based chiefly on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.**

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* * *

**

_Dear Mrs. Jones,_

_It is with great regret and profound sadness that I must inform you that your daughter Catherine was Killed In Action on July 31st of this year. Although I fear I cannot say much regarding the circumstances of her passing, I want to press upon you the heroism of her sacrifice; she died in the service of her country, protecting those in her care and saving many in the process. She has given, as so many of her compatriots have, that last full measure of devotion to the cause of peace, and she shall be remembered for it._

_I know that no words of mine will offer you the comfort and strength that these days will require, but I could not let the day pass without letting you know how very deeply I feel the effects of this loss. To say that I was fond of Katie would be a trivialization; she was a fine girl, a devoted servicewoman and a dear friend. No one will miss her as much as you, but know that I, for one, will remember her with affection and count myself fortunate for having known her._

_My company joins me, dear Mrs. Jones, in sending you and your family our sincerest sympathy and friendship. I hope that the great burden of your sorrow may somehow be mitigated by time, memories and the pride you must also feel, and that you may draw some measure of comfort in knowing that others share in your grief. _

_Yours sincerely,_

_Captain Eleanor Fairfax_

_Commanding_

* * *

It is said that time heals all wounds, but anyone who has experienced true grief will know that this is not quite the truth of it. While pain fades and scars eventually form, they are never wholly gone, becoming instead lingering reminders of old agony and heartache. Eleanor was perhaps more conscious of this than most; though life and circumstances had vastly improved for her since joining the 101st Airborne, there were marks on her body and soul that she would carry with her until the day she died. Being amongst friends had assuaged their ache significantly but had not erased them. Now, faced with the impossible decision of staying with those she loved or leaving them to serve the country she had fought for tirelessly since the start of the war, it was as if the old scars had been torn asunder all over again, exposing raw nerves and a vulnerability she did not much care for. It was, to say the least, an unpleasant reminder of just how fragile her equilibrium really was.

Initially, before everyone returned from their respective furloughs, keeping herself preoccupied had taken some effort but was ultimately doable. She had written letters - to Katie's parents, to Philip, to Leo Marks in London - and ordered new uniforms, devised training schedules and helped sift through personal belongings that had been left behind by troopers killed in action; there was always some menial task that needed doing. Throughout it all, there had been the tender constancy of having Dick to herself, the stolen kisses in deserted hallways, the shared meals and evening walks she never wanted to end. Having the others return was both a blessing and a curse to her fraying composure. Though the opportunity for solitude was all but gone, it made keeping busy a good deal easier - she played cards with Perconte, learned Spanish from Ramirez in exchange for a word or two of French, laughed at the tattoos Martin and Guarnere had gotten whilst in Scotland - and it was genuinely good to have her friends near again. For a little while, life seemed much the way it had been before their deployment to Normandy. If her team noticed she embraced them a little too tightly upon their return or if the men detected her occasional silences that lasted just a little too long, they said nothing about it. She was good at pushing her worries aside and pretending everything was all right; it was the only reason she had held out as a clandestine agent for as long as she had.

Of course, things weren't the same and it alarmed her how quickly she could feel herself unraveling. The warning signs were there; it felt as though all the recovery she had gone through during the long months before D-Day was slowly dissolving into nothingness. Some days, it was as if she were back to square one all over again. She was frowning down moodily at a pot of brewing coffee when Harry Welsh, returned from Ireland, found her in the nurses' mess. The newly promoted lieutenant hadn't been able to see her yet but had been back long enough to talk to Winters and wheedle an at least generic account of their days alone together out of him. While it honestly pleased him that his two friends seemed to have gotten their act together it also provided a wealth of new material to tease them about, and far be it from Harry to deny himself that pleasure. It was like Christmas had come early.

"You sure you should be anywhere near that stove?"

Rolling her eyes fondly - _figures he's already heard about the damned eggs _- Eleanor whirled around at the familiar sound of his voice and grinned broadly when she saw him standing there, still dressed in his Class A's and every bit as impish as she remembered him. "Harry!" she exclaimed, pulling the pan off the fire and setting it down so she could embrace him properly. He was certainly as tiny as ever.

"Hello, beautiful," Welsh said warmly, kissing her cheek before letting her go. At first glance, she seemed happy, healthy; much like he had left her and the way he had expected her to look after almost a week of blissful young love. Needless to say he only saw what she intended him to see.

"How was Ireland?" she asked, standing on her toes to grab a mug from the cupboard next to the stove, "Do you want some coffee?"

"Well, I don't know, Elle," he smirked, crossing his arms, "Will it end up poisoning me?"

_Oh, aren't you hysterical. _She glared at him through narrowed eyes but pulled out a set of cups anyway, pouring the dark liquid into them without a word. Harry shook his head with a smile and motioned for her to pass him one.

"Fine," he grumbled, making out as if it were some great sacrifice on his part, "Gimme. Ireland was nice, by the way - very green. Lots of food and relatives."

"Sounds just about perfect," Eleanor smiled, handing him the steaming beverage while cradling her own in her other hand. She hadn't personally been to the emerald isle, but she'd heard good things about it. _Must be lovely... new places to explore, family to return to..._

Nodding, Welsh took the coffee from her. "Thanks," he said, sipping it carefully, eyebrows shooting up in astonishment. "This ain't half bad."

"No need to be so surprised," she chuckled, snapping out of her brief moment of silent rumination as she leaned against the counter, "I might not be able to cook worth a dime but I can sure as hell make a cup of coffee."

"Self preservation?" Welsh grinned, recalling her dependence on caffeine to stay awake during the long hours on the front all too clearly. She would have been in serious trouble had she not been able to make herself the liquid that sustained her.

"Something like that."

Harry hummed to himself, amused, and let silence stretch on for a moment as they both drank their coffee. "Hey, did you hear the replacements aren't coming in for another few weeks?" he remarked at length, interested to see if she had received that tidbit of information yet. Judging by the way her brows were furrowing, she had not.

"That long?" she wondered aloud, incredulous it would take that long. The airborne units had proven to be some of the most effective and combat ready outfits in the whole of the Allied forces; it seemed strange that they would remain on the backbench for such a length of time.

"Oh yeah," Welsh confirmed, draining the last of his drink, "Guess we'll be staying in England for a bit, huh?"

"Yeah," she murmured, already lost in thought. Some part of her had hoped for a rapid redeployment, as crazy as that sounded even to herself. She knew she operated better under pressure; while it would not have made the decision any less agonizing, being forced to choose might have made it easier somehow. "Guess so."

Observing her warily for a moment, Welsh noticed the way she seemed to retreat into herself, eyes loosing some of their focus, becoming troubled. He swore under his breath - he should have known something was more was going on than she was letting on. "All right," he said firmly, "Tell me. What's on your mind?"

"Sorry?" she replied vaguely, blinking. He scowled.

"You've got that look on your face- the one you get when you're over-thinking stuff."

"I do not-" she began to protest, only to be silenced by an uncharacteristically stern look from him. Harry knew better than to let her get away with trying to worm her way out of confrontation, it seemed, another reason why she had once preferred to keep her distance. Tricking people into leaving you be became significantly harder when they had a way of getting into your head like that. She sighed.

"The British want me back," she professed, picking at a piece of chipped paint on her mug distractedly, "They've offered me a job, a promotion, a pick of teams and assignments." She laughed humorlessly. "Even gave me a medal."

Rationally, she knew it was the better offer. It was perhaps the only way of salvaging what was left of her career as a true operative and the last possibility of returning to the simpler way of working she had known before. No attachment. No looking back. Just doing her duty and serving her country. _But can I really go back to that after everything that's happened? _

"Sounds like a hell of an offer," Harry remarked, but she wrinkled her nose in disdain.

"Sod the offer," she said bluntly, "You know that's not what I'm doing this for."

It wasn't; not really. She had signed up to honor the memory of her father, to make him proud and do her part in keeping her country safe. It was true that this initial idealism had morphed into a more day-to-day fight for survival and eventually a dedication to friends and comrades alike, but it had never been about promotions or rank. She had thought that much was clear.

To her surprise, her friend smiled slightly. "You going sentimental on me, Fairfax?"

"I fought for King and Country for four years, Harry," she said, meeting his eyes, "It's not like I can snap my fingers and get rid of that."

"That's not what I meant," Welsh returned, voice becoming strangely gentle as he went on, "You don't want to leave the 506th, do you? You want to stay with us."

He was right and he knew it, but what he did not realize is that she had come to the same deduction well before Overlord had ever happened. She was well aware that her devotion to her friends was both a weakness and a strength; indeed, it was one of the few things she _was_ certain of these days. It was the fear of not being able to help them, of failure, inadequacy and getting them killed that had her in torment. Now that the one thing she knew for a fact she was good at - the clandestine work - had been taken away from her by her own reputation, she wasn't sure what to do with herself anymore. Working with a British unit would at least prevent her from inadvertently hurting the people she had grown to love.

"Ah, Ellie," Harry said a little sadly, reaching out to squeeze her arm as she breathed out slowly and tried to gather her thoughts. She smiled at him faintly.

"It's stupid, really."

"No, it's not," he countered and for a brief while she thought he would press the issue further; he did not, instead falling back on humor in an attempt to cheer her up. "How could you ever want to leave this handsome devil behind?"

Sure enough, her smile broadened and she shoved at him playfully. "Don't flatter yourself."

His grin was instantaneous. "Who said anything about flattery?" Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he hugged her close for a moment. "You gotta do what feels right, Ellie. Whatever that is." She nodded, burrowing into his side as he began to steer her outside. It wasn't a solution, more of a temporary bandage than stitches, but it would do for now.

"C'mon. Let's go stir up some trouble."

* * *

Days passed and turned into weeks and Eleanor clung on to her sanity with slipping hands. A month of warfare had changed the men and women of the 506th and being around them - the very friends she might soon abandon - meant there wasn't a moment of reprieve to her struggles. They were like the water wearing down the already cracked surface of her conscious, unintentionally making matters worse as they wormed their way deeper into her heart; where ever she turned, there was another reason, another argument to stay or go. It became harder each day to plaster on the easy smile that had previously hidden her disquiet.

Those of the men who had been wounded in Normandy gradually rejoined the regiment. Some were cleared as required but more than a few had sneaked out against medical advice, fearing they would be reassigned if they didn't get back to their unit in time. Their loyalty to their comrades and company was unwavering and absolute; Eleanor didn't doubt they would find another way back even if she did report their escape. She knew better than to grill them about their untimely appearances, instead checking up on them discreetly and making sure they were all right without stirring up too much of a fuss. It became something of an unspoken agreement between her and the various companies, a pact based on mutual respect and understanding. She appreciated their dedication. They valued her lack of questions. It was as simple as that.

Along with the wounded came the replacements, achingly fresh faced and wet behind the ears. They had gone through the same rigorous training as all paratroopers had but it was more than ever apparent that there was a vast difference between field exercises and actual combat experience. Compared to the newbies, the veterans - and Eleanor had to laugh at the irony of calling her friends veterans; most of them were barely in their twenties themselves - seemed older, wiser, tougher, endlessly more worldly. The old guard was generally nice enough to the new arrivals but it disturbed her to notice only a few took the trouble of actually getting to know their names. It was like they were expecting the poor kids to die. She couldn't blame them, particularly, especially as the replacements were a constant reminder of friends lost, but it wasn't a pleasant thought either.

A warm sunny afternoon in late July saw Eleanor headed towards the town square, having just brought a stack of paperwork back to Saint Michael's. A group of replacements was currently coming in and her team had been tasked with checking their medical records, making sure the papers matched up and the new troopers were ready to enter their companies. The entire area was buzzing with people and trucks rumbling by, making progress slow and forcing her to meander through the crowd. She was further delayed when she was pulled aside halfway across the lawn and spun into a hug by Moe Alley; he seemed to have bribed an orderly into taking him to Aldbourne and was eager to catch up with her. They discussed the book she had borrowed him in France and the unpleasantness of the hospital in Wales he had been in, the two of them chatting away amiably until Eleanor noticed a few of the new arrivals leering at her girls.

"_Hello_, ladies!" one of them called out, nudging a colleague who promptly whistled and hooted.

"Why don't you drop and give _me_ twenty, huh?"

By her side, Alley bristled and glowered, but she held up a hand to stop him from jumping in. It seemed Luz and Randleman were already on scene. _Oh, those kids are going to regret saying the things they did..._

"Hey, wiseass," Luz called coolly, expression lacking its usual good humor, "Your mouth's talking. You might want to see to it."

"Jesus, what's your problem?" one of the newbies posed, making the mistake of quite literally looking down his nose at the shorter man. "They're just dames."

"'Just dames'?" Luz repeated incredulously, turning towards his fellow sergeant, "Hey Bull, this kid here thinks Ellie's girls are 'just dames'."

Randleman, ever present cigar stuck firmly in his mouth, looked the replacements up and down skeptically. "That so? Big damn mistake if you ask me."

"Yeah, well, nobody did," one of the other replacements scowled, getting up close and into their personal space, "That there's some fine-"

"Don't you go disrespectin' our nurses, boy," Bull intoned, never once raising his voice but seeming to grow larger and more threatening with every passing second. He didn't need to move; he was intimidating enough just standing still. Luz, almost eerily calm, shrugged.

"I'd listen to him if I were you," he remarked, "Now be a smart rookie and take a hike."

Eleanor, realizing things were starting to spiral out of control, patted Alley on the shoulder. "Hold on for a moment, would you, Jimmy?" she said quietly, glad when the tall trooper nodded grimly and watched her go. She was starting to hope these two replacements weren't in Easy - Christ only knew how that would go down with the rest of the company.

"You can't order us!" they were saying, foolishly, and both sergeants looked ready to punch them when Eleanor stepped in.

"Yeah, but I can," she said pleasantly, gaze resting on the replacements briefly and smiling appeasingly at her friends. She noticed, distantly, that Luz looked away the moment she turned to him and tried to recall when he had come back. She couldn't. _Strange..._

"What seems to be the problem here, boys?"

"Nothing, cap'n," Bull answered, still glaring at the newcomers, "These boys were just leavin'."

Scrutinizing the group briefly, Eleanor nodded curtly. There wasn't much she could do unless they misbehaved right in front of her. "All right. I'll see you fellas later."

"Yes, ma'am," the lot of them replied dutifully as she began to leave, but then a muttered remark had her on high alert once again.

"Nice ass, ma'am."

Throwing out an arm to stop her friends from doing something they would regret, she turned and leveled the perpetrator with an unimpressed look. "I'm going to pretend I didn't just hear you say that, private, because you're new and obviously don't know what's good for you," she told him steadily, voice quietly authoritative, "But one more comment like that and I swear I'll have you court martialed faster than you can yell 'geronimo' and jump from a C47. Do I make myself clear?"

The replacements reeled back visibly, swallowing; they hadn't expected this kind of ferocity from her. "Yes ma'am."

"Good. Now get out of here before I change my mind."

They saluted her nervously and disappeared. "Fucking replacements," Luz muttered, giving voice to what they were all thinking, "Sorry, Elle." He still wasn't looking at her. It was starting to unnerve her.

"It's all right," she said slowly, trying and failing to make eye contact with him, "Just make sure you get these kids in line before you deploy again."

"Yes ma'am," they both responded, snapping to before going on their way again and leaving Eleanor to stare after them, disquieted. Bull had not treated her any differently than usual, but Luz's behavior had been off. It was as if he couldn't stand to look at her; the more she thought about it, the more certain she was he hadn't come to say hello to her when he had returned either. Was he so appalled by what he had seen her do in Normandy, so shocked at how easily she had killed, that he was avoiding her? Part of her railed at the mere idea of such an unfair judgment - he was a rifleman in a primary assault company, for crying out loud, it wasn't as if he hadn't shot anyone - while another part tried to reason she was imagining things and overreacting; either way, the whole thing upset her far more than it reasonably should have.

She straightened out, inhaling slowly, willing herself to calm and squaring her shoulders. _Get a hold of yourself, damn it. It doesn't matter. It never mattered before. Breathe. _

The trouble was that it did matter. It mattered all too much, and it was tearing her apart.

* * *

Eleanor went to the pub that night fully intending to talk to Luz. She might still be struggling with her final decision, but the least she could do was sort out the minor issues and attempt to take it from there. Drink in hand, she was well on her way to where Luz was sat when she quite suddenly spotted another familiar face. Frowning, she called out to the trooper.

"Joe?"

Sure enough, it was Joe Toye who turned around, dark eyes focusing on her and crinkling in recognition as she set down her beer on the table besides him. "Ellie, hey," he said, opening his arms to her, "C'mere, babe." She stepped into his embrace and wrapped her arms around his torso, holding on tightly for a long few moments before stepping back. His hands lingered on her arms. "I'm sorry I didn't say hello sooner."

"That's all right," she said softly, inwardly wondering if this whole avoiding her business was going to become a problem with all the men who had seen her in action, "How are you doing?"

"I'm okay," he said, letting her go with a final squeeze, "All healed up. How are the girls?"

"They're fine," she answered automatically, her smile tight, "It's been tough, but..." she sighed, "They're fine."

"Yeah," Toye frowned, and it pained her to see how solemn he looked. He had never been as outgoing as Muck or Luz, but even so he was unusually quiet - almost melancholy - now. For a moment, he seemed to gather his thoughts, jaw clenching and unclenching before he spoke up again. "What you did out there- back in France-"

Eleanor grimaced and shook her head. "Joe..."

"No, lemme speak," he interrupted her, insistent, "You saved our lives, Elle."

"I rather think Nancy did," she objected, remembering all too clearly how her own reputation had almost cost them all of their lives. There were so many things she could have done otherwise - so many decisions that could have turned out differently than they had. It was Nancy's courageous move that had gotten them out of her, not any of her own.

"Maybe," Toye said slowly, "But if you hadn't stood up the way you did, we'd all be resemblin' sifters by now."

"Joe! Hey Joe!"

Guarnere was hollering for his attention and the two of them turned their heads to see the Philly sergeant standing with Betty and a few of the other nurses. Eleanor's second was looking on in mild concern, her pretty eyes shifting between her boss and her sweetheart. The latter heaved a sigh. "I better go," he said, smiling sadly as he saluted Eleanor, "Good to see you, captain."

She saluted him back a little dazedly. "Yeah. You too."

Watching him move away, all thoughts of talking to Luz forgotten, she took a moment to look around the room much as she had done at Christmas. Where there had been fondness in December, July only brought her sadness; observing her friends like this brought home to her how much each and every one of them had changed and how much the burden of that month in Normandy weighed down on them. The gloom that seemed to hang over Joe only lifted when Betty - less certain of herself than she had been, a little less confident - stretched out her hand to him and quietly asked him to dance. Eleanor watched them sway to Bing Crosby's _I'll Be Seeing You, _their hands intertwined over his heart and her heart tucked underneath his chin, and was glad she hadn't condemned their budding romance as she technically should have.

Smiling faintly, her eyes drifted to Nancy and searched for any trace of the little girl she had previously known. She found none in the solemn woman who had frozen up during weapons training only a few days ago; while she had already matured steadily while in Aldbourne, France had forced her to grow up. It was a haunting change in one so young. Sitting by her was Gene Roe - smiling all the less now and even paler than he had been before - while Liebgott and Anne were slightly further away, just the two of them surrounded by the memories of absent companions. Lieb's temper had evolved into something far darker, shadows lurking at the corners of his being; Anne, trying to be three people instead of one, would likely forever be tormented by the ghost of her best friend.

Eleanor bit her lip, disturbed by what she saw. She had always known things would be different but seeing it first hand like this was unsettling to say the least. More had become colder, Luz and Hoobler a little less rambunctious. Bill Guarnere still brimmed with anger over what happened to his brother. Even Malarkey, the perpetually cheerful, happy-go-lucky Mick, had lost some of his innocence and carefree ways. Worst of all was knowing that their part in the war had only just begun; for Eleanor, the D-Day invasion had marked a turning of the tide and the beginning of what was hopefully the end to the conflict she had been fighting for years. It was the very opposite for her friends. Things would only worsen before they had any chances of getting better. Could she in good faith turn her back on them now?

Downing the remainder of her drink, she grabbed her bag and headed back outside to look for some peace and quiet. She needed to think, needed to figure out what the hell to do. Enough was enough. The chill of the summer's evening enveloped her as she stepped onto the street, just able to make out Nixon - also recently promoted to captain - against the light of the setting sun, slouched against one of the low brick walls a little further down. She smiled ruefully when he waved at her. _So much for peace and quiet._

"Hey, Lew."

"Ellie," he grinned as she ambled over and leaned against the wall besides him, "Hiding from the crowds too, huh?"

She grimaced. "That obvious?" When he offered her his hip flask, she took it without question or snide remark, appreciating the gesture for the token of friendship that it was. Besides Harry and herself (and, of course, the occasional attempt at getting Dick to drink), Nixon shared his precious Vat 69 with no one.

"Thanks," she nodded, taking a sip and finding that she'd actually come to like the stuff as well. _Who would have thought. _She gazed listlessly at the ducks in the pond across the deserted lane, idly watching them float around and squawk at each other. Observing random bits of her surroundings was an old trick to keep her mind off things that bothered her and for a while it worked - until Lew snorted besides her, shaking his head.

"You look like a damn Waterhouse."

"Christ, Lew," Eleanor chuckled, frowning at the odd and unexpected reference to the pre-Raphaelite painter, "I know my hair's gotten long, but really?"

He snatched the flask back from her. "I meant you're brooding."

"Oh!" she blurted, caught off guard by his sudden insight and cursing inwardly at having been caught onto once again. Perhaps it really was time to retire from clandestine work if she couldn't even hide her turmoil from him. Regardless, she could not help but attempt another diversion. "I suppose I am somewhat half-sick of shadows." _Said the Lady of Shalott..._

"Would that make me Lancelot?" Nixon smirked, catching on to what she was saying as he lit a cigarette; she was promptly faced with the absurd mental image of her friend in full, medieval-style body armor. _Tirra lirra by the duckpond, huh? What a knight he would be._

"Depends," she smiled, intrigued by the comparison; surely if any of them would live up to the old standards of chivalry, it was Winters. He'd be quite the Arthur-figure. _And if he is Arthur, and Nix with all his darkly good looks is Lancelot..._ "Are you trying to steal me away from Dick?"

The intelligence officer burst out laughing, hoisting himself up onto the wall. "I wouldn't dare, fair Guinevere."

She made a playful little curtsey, recalling long-ago classes of deportment and etiquette as she inclined her head gracefully. _Look at me, mama, I can still play the lady. _"Good."

"From lady to queen in one fell swoop," he teased, watching her straighten out from the impromptu bow, "You gotta teach me how to do that sometime."

"Sure," she promised with a shrug, hopping on next to him, "Just don't expect me to coach you on how to curtsey."

"Aw, but you do it so beautifully!" he teased, nudging her. She wondered what their little Arthurian parallel would make of Harry. _The court jester, maybe?_

"Sorry, no dice," she replied, shuddering theatrically, "Call me a traditionalist, but there's something inherently wrong about men bobbing up and down like that."

"All right, all right," he conceded, taking a long drag from his Lucky Strike and tilting his head away from her briefly as he exhaled the smoke before returning to study her. Meeting his downright searching eyes, she raised her eyebrows mildly, wordlessly spurring him to stop staring already.

"What shadows?" he asked quietly, suddenly devoid of all humor and even sounding a little concerned. She frowned.

"Sorry?"

"What shadows are there to be sick of?" he clarified, bumping his knee against hers when she looked at him blankly. "Come on, that wasn't just raillery and you know it." He smiled, that genuine smile he used so rarely. "You can confide in your old pal Lew."

She sighed, worrying her lip between her teeth. _First Harry, now Lew. I need to snap out of this. _"Old friends," she said vaguely, thinking back to what she had beheld inside, "Memories. The usual, really."

Nixon seemed to hesitate for a moment before nodding slowly, old grin sliding back into place. "Well, so long as you don't start lying down on boats and singing sad songs..."

"I won't, I promise," she said with a fond smile, happy to have steered clear of the subject. As much as she adored Lew, she knew he had enough problems of his own and did not want to add hers to that list. There'd be time to brood later. Looking around, she noticed another trooper walking towards the pub but couldn't quite make out who it was. On first glance, it looked an awful lot like Walter Gordon, who had been wounded in Normandy and wasn't due back for a little while at least. She fully anticipated him to go AWOL at some point, but he seemed to be walking surprisingly smoothly for someone who had been hit in the leg. "The hell is Smokey Gordon doing back so soon?"

Following her gaze, Nixon shook his head. "That's not Gordon. It's Dukeman."

Eleanor tilted her head, narrowing her eyes to try and get a better look. He was right; it _was _Will Dukeman. It was almost uncanny how easily Lew had been able to tell the difference. "How can you tell?"

"Slightly different build, different way of moving," he shrugged, "You spent enough time with a bunch of guys and you start to recognize all of their quirks."

"Oh, the replacements are going to _love_ this company," Eleanor laughed, suddenly feeling a stab of pity for the new troopers joining Easy along with a simultaneous sense of yearning for a bond as close as the boys had. Pesky as her attachment to the regiment was, there really was no denying that she loved them.

If only she knew how to deal with it.

* * *

It didn't take her long to return home after that, undeniably shaken by the events of the day and desperately looking for some solitude. She settled down in the dorms with a sheet of anagrams that Clarence Hester had put together for her, knowing they would be a perfect distraction until she had managed to unwind a little and had cleared her head enough to think. Creating puzzles was a long standing tradition between Hester and her, a game to pass the time and keep their minds sharp as they tried to outdo one another. Eleanor had years of experience with cracking codes and solving riddles but Hester was an intelligent man and a worthy opponent; she enjoyed their little competition and looked forward to receiving a new set of challenges whenever she visited regimental headquarters.

There was to be no rest that night, however. Shortly after she had started the second anagram, the door burst open without warning and startled her into action; she was halfway on her way to diving for a weapon when she saw Anne standing in the doorway, looking distressed. _Oh no. _Despite Katie dying only weeks ago, Anne had been doing well so far - _too well,_ Eleanor realized now, shaking her head. _I should have known. _There had been nightmares, certainly, but then they all suffered from them; waking up in the middle of the night to someone screaming was an unfortunately common occurrence around the nurses' billet. Walking over cautiously, she reached out a hand to touch the nurse's shoulder. "Annie? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," the girl whispered hoarsely, but a mere second later she was abruptly bursting into tears and throwing herself into Eleanor's arms.

"Whoa, hey," the captain said quietly, a little overwhelmed as she patted Anne's back tentatively, "What happened?"

"Joe wanted to play cards but I-" Anne hiccuped, fingers grasping onto Eleanor's blouse, "I c-couldn't."

"Oh, sweetheart," Eleanor breathed, tightening her arms around her friend. It was bound to happen sooner or later, really. Aldbourne held too many memories for them not to catch up with the two friends, and Liebgott's bursts of anger were infamous as was. It had only been a matter of time before something like this happened.

"And he got all got upset about it and I didn't know what to _do_," Anne continued on tremulously, "Katie and Ed always knew how to deal with his temper, but I _don't_, and I miss them-" she broke off as a new onslaught of tears overtook her, seeping into the shoulder of Eleanor's uniform. The older woman rocked her gently, pushing aside her own sorrow and concerns for the time being and holding her subordinate as if she were no more than a young child having just awoken from a bad dream.

"Shh," she soothed, "I know."

Anne pulled back a little, lip quivering as Eleanor brushed the hair away from her damp cheeks. "Can I just stay here a while?" she sniffled. Eleanor was quick to reassure her.

"Of course you can, sweetheart," she said, linking their arms together, "Come on. We'll get ourselves some tea, huh?"

Having grown up with a British mother meant that tea, to Eleanor, was a tried and proven remedy for just about anything. She sat Anne down and wrapped a blanket around her too thin frame - _when had she gotten so skinny? _- before handing her a handkerchief and scurrying about to boil the water and infuse it with the rationed Ceylon blend. While most of the American nurses did not wholly understand their hosts' obsession with the stuff, Anne took the steaming mug without question, sipping from it slowly as she began to calm down.

"I just-" she began as Eleanor sat down across from her, hesitating briefly, "I expected them to be here with us, you know? I thought we'd come back and everything would be the same, that we'd continue on the way we left off." She shook her head, staring at her hands solemnly. "'s Stupid of me."

Eleanor's own hands stretched around her mug tersely, guilt flaring in the pit of her stomach; had it not been for her, Katie would have never found herself in that truck to begin with and would probably still be alive. It didn't escape her notice how similar the current situation was to the one she had found herself in not too long ago, either; replace the tea with coffee and switch the time of day around and the whole thing was almost scarily similar to her own moment with Harry Welsh. It was perhaps most devastating of all to witness the slow decay of hope - so similar to her own - reflected in Anne's eyes. She hadn't wanted this for any of the girls.

"It's not stupid," she said quietly, "It's human - we all cling to the belief that we'll make it through. It's something that's surprisingly hard to get rid of."

"But we should?" Anne asked, "Get rid of it, I mean."

"No," Eleanor replied faintly, conscious that she probably wouldn't have made it through Normandy had she not maintained the irrational expectation that her friends would somehow be all right, "Believe me, I've tried. It doesn't work."

"Then what does?" Anne wanted to know, her voice taking on a despairing note, "How do you cope with these things? I never lost anyone before the war, all my grandparents are still alive, but you-" she paused, studying Eleanor intently for a moment as if searching for the answer in her countenance, "You've been here for so long. How do you keep going?"

_You find something worth fighting for and pray you don't get them killed. Of course, that doesn't seem to have worked particularly well for me... _"You just do," she said, rubbing a weary hand across her eyes, "You'll remember and struggle and no matter what people say, it really doesn't get any easier, at least not as long as this war's still on. But I have to believe-" she swallowed, worrying her lip between her teeth, "I _have_ to believe that it will be over someday and it'll all have been worth it. That we can live in peace again." She sighed. "Until then, you just live and love with every single breath you have left in you. It's the only thing we _can_ do."

The nurse nodded wordlessly, considering it for a moment as Eleanor struggled with her own demons. _I have to leave. At least that way the girls'll be safe- at least I won't be responsible for any more of my friends getting hurt. I'm too attached, too exposed, too useless..._

"Does it ever stop hurting?"

"No," Eleanor murmured without thought, "Not really. But it becomes bearable."

"'Bearable'," Anne repeated dubiously, grimacing. The unspoken question if that would be the most she would have to settle for in the future was painfully clear to her superior.

"Annie, nobody will think any worse of you if you request a transfer," she said, looking to ease her mind and thus a little shocked when her friend frowned at the idea.

"A transfer?" Wha-" the nurse shook her head forcefully, eyes clearing with determination, "No. I couldn't. You'll still be out there- Joe and the other boys'll still be out there. I'm not leaving you behind."

Eleanor - speechless - was left to drink her tea in astounded silence. Distantly, Anne's fierce devotion to her friends reminded her of her own childish insistence at taking their staff with them as they moved to Washington. _How simple things were then. How complicated they are now... but surely, loyalty in itself changes little? Do I not owe the same kind of devotion, if not more, to my friends?_

For once, the tea did not help much at all.

* * *

The next morning was a Sunday and Eleanor slipped out as the girls were having breakfast, leaving an understanding Betty in charge for the time being. She wandered the fields surrounding Aldbourne for hours but came no closer to finding a solution to her troubles, finally circling back towards the village green and the church that sat at its heart. The bells were already tolling to signal the start of the Eucharist; she filed in quietly behind the locals, taking her customary place in the pews and bowing her head as though in prayer when the priest began his sermon. She heard little of it. It wasn't until halfway through the service, when the congregation was requested to stand and sing _Dear Lord And Father Of Mankind, _that she blinked and noticed a well-known and beloved face in the crowd opposite. She blanched.

_Dick._ _Oh no._

He caught her eyes and smiled, tenderly, affectionate, and she felt her heart jump into her throat. She couldn't face him. Not now. Not until she had figured out what the hell to do; she honestly wasn't sure how she would react to having to encounter him by herself. Their burgeoning relationship had only put her into even more of a tailspin. She knew he had made a point of accepting her the way she was, past sins and all, but how could he when she wasn't even sure what that meant herself? How could she expect him to be with her when she couldn't make up her own mind on whether to stay or go?

The hymn had already begun and there was no way of slipping out until it was over; even then, her unceremonious exit raised a few heads and harassed whispers, but she paid them no heed as she fled the cool church and all but ran the last few meters outside. _Air. Thank God. _She heaved in a deep breath._ Okay, calm down. Think. Where do I go from here-_

There were footsteps behind her and she glanced over her shoulder to see Dick following her. _Damn it. _"Ellie, wait!" he called after her, breaking into a jog to catch her hand and turn her towards him, "What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing," she said curtly, heart beating heavily in her chest as she wrenched her hand free from his grasp. She had to get away, had to clear her mind, had to finish _thinking_ before she fell apart completely, but then she noticed the way he was favoring his leg and concern triumphed over anxiety.

"Your leg," she groaned, shaking her head and pushing him down onto one of the churchyard benches, cursing under her breath. "Damn it..."

"It's fine," he told her gently, resting his hand over hers as she knelt down and moved to look at the old wound, "What's wrong?"

"What's _wrong_?" she forced out, ignoring his reassurances and pulling the bloused end of his trousers out of his jump boots without thought, "This! All of this. How on God's green earth am I supposed to choose?"

Remaining silent, he watched her with troubled eyes as she checked the scar, prodding it with cold fingers. Both Harry and Nix had pointed out to him that something was bothering her and of course he knew she had a fairly substantial choice ahead of her in terms of her future, but it appeared he had missed his chance to talk to her before things became too bad. It felt like he had failed her.

"It was always do your duty and don't get attached, fight the good fight and don't look back," she rambled on, "But then _you_ come in with your kindness and your camaraderie and brothers-in-arms _nonsense,_" the word was emphasized with a tug on the hem of his ODs, "And now I suddenly care that Joe Toye thinks I saved his goddamn life although I really nearly got him killed, and it bothers me that Luz won't look me in the eye and I cannot _bear_ the thought of abandoning the girls and damn you all to hell, I don't _want_ to leave."

She sat back on her haunches, breathing hard, blushing when she realized just how unceremonious and frankly ill-mannered she had been in examining his leg the way she had. This wasn't Normandy, this was rural England, and people were staring as they exited the church behind them. Looking up hesitantly, she met his compassionate gaze and was torn between the desire to hide away in his arms and the incessant urge to tell him off for being so darn nice to her. _Stop it. It's what got me here in the first place._

"Then don't leave," he said quietly, plainly, "Stay with us."

_You think I haven't considered that? _"It's not that simple!" she retorted, rising up to pace around the graveyard, "England was my home once. I've fought for it for years and now they're offering me a way out." She shook her head. "I don't know if I can turn it down."

"Haven't Sink and Taylor done the same?" he reasoned, still seated, "We're all fighting the Germans, Elle. What difference does it make what kind of uniform you wear?"

It was a fair point. Running a tremulous hand through her hair, she halted and leaned against one of the old grave markers, the warmth of the afternoon sun lingering in the stone. "It doesn't," she admitted, "Not really." Yet it was another one of the few conclusions she had already drawn herself; her problem was far more complex than the relatively simple matter of country loyalty and the dubious joys of dual citizenship. For a brief moment she hesitated, unsure whether she should share this burden with the captain sitting across from her. To her, he personified everything that was good: he was the brilliant officer she wished there were more of, the humble, kind man she had fallen in love with, the steady reassurance that there were things left in the world that were worth fighting for. She didn't want to tarnish him with her own darkness. It was startling enough that he had stayed by her side after she had drawn away the curtains that had previously shaded her past; she didn't want to push her luck again.

Somehow, though, she couldn't help herself. Perhaps it was that same quiet, comforting presence, perhaps it was something altogether different. She didn't know, but the words spilled from her lips before she even fully realized what had happened. "But don't you see," she said desperately, all the secret fears and worries spilling from her lips without constraint, "Uniforms are all I've got left. I've been an agent for so long now I don't _know_ how to be anything else, and I can't-" Her voice broke and she had to look away as he stood up in an instant, worry marring his handsome features. She closed her eyes and forced herself to calm.

"I _can't_ be one any longer," she finished regretfully, still irrationally bitter over the loss of her ability to work undercover, "I screwed up the one thing I was good at."

He was standing by her side now, their bodies not quite touching. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Take the agent away and all that remains is an empty uniform, Dick," she remarked dully, almost in a whisper, "What if it's all I am?"

"Ellie," he said, appalled, and she couldn't bring herself to look at him until his hand wrapped around her own and he tilted her chin up with the other. "Eleanor," he repeated, blue gaze earnest and so utterly kind it nearly brought tears to her own eyes, "You are so much more than that. Never mind that you're still a hell of an intelligence officer and the best nurse we've had, you're a leader, a teacher, a friend." He looked down briefly, mouth quirking into that endearing little half-smile of his. "I don't doubt the men would tell you you're a Screaming Eagle, too."

It was impossible not to return his smile at that and she nudged into his touch instinctively as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, exhaling slowly. "You're Ellie," he concluded, "_Our_ Ellie."

The sincerity in his voice had her heart threatening to burst with relief and love, and yet she continued to wonder at him being there with her to begin with. "Why are you still here?" she marveled softly, idly readjusting his tie. He frowned, vaguely confused.

"I'm sorry?"

"After everything I've told you, you're still here, still talking to me," she elaborated, raising her eyes to his, "Why?"

He chuckled as though in disbelief. "Because you're not defined by what you've seen and done, and you're a good person who I happen to like very much," he said, pulling her close and pressing his lips against her temple.

"I'm not going anywhere," he murmured, "Are you?"

* * *

**Sorry for the delay in getting this up - I'm not particularly thrilled with it at all, but there you go. I wanted to get something out at least before I leave for London over the weekend.**

**A massive thank you to everyone who's reviewed over the past two weeks... I've never had over a hundred reviews before and it's an absolutely awesome feeling. I couldn't do this without you guys! Thanks so much!**

**On that note, please read and review... :)**


	23. Counting The Days

**Disclaimer: this story is based chiefly on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.**

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* * *

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_One thousand, two thousand, three thousand..._

All around her there was silence, save perhaps the distant roar of the Dakota she had just jumped out of and the wind scouring her face and tugging at her hair. Lifting her eyes upward, Eleanor could see the white of the parachutes contrasted starkly - beautifully - against the blue of the sky like a smattering of clouds on an otherwise clear day. Time seemed to slow as she counted the seconds and floated down smoothly, feeling weightless. Below, endless green fields stretched out beneath her dangling feet, the rolling plains interrupted only by the occasional sward of waving corn and little streams or roads. In the distance a young man with a shock of blond hair was cycling towards one of the hamlets, standing up on the pedals of his bike in his haste to get to his destination. She wondered, idly, why he was in such a hurry and why he did not notice there were almost a dozen people - a dozen _women_ - falling from the sky. It seemed odd to her given that it was all she could think about; they were (to the best of her knowledge) the first cohesive unit of female parachutist and yet no one was looking. _Not with a bang but with a whimper, and please let this not be the way the world ends._

It was only a few days ago that Colonel Sink had summoned her to his office and had, without ever saying it out right, urged her to make up her mind once and for all. Though she was decidedly leaning towards staying with the 101st, there were still doubts, still a lingering urge to run and return to what little was left of the certainty she had once known; she had yet to make an official decision, and Sink knew this. He had suggested she put her team through jump training in addition to the regular physical exercise and intensified intelligence regimen they were already going through. At first she had protested the idea; it was too dangerous, too risky, probably unnecessary. Memories of failed test jumps and bloody heaps of silk in the midst of the English countryside were still vivid in her mind. What if that were to happen to one of her girls?

Sink had merely raised a bushy eyebrow at her. "Chances are we'll be dropped further behind enemy lines this time around," the colonel had observed simply, and she had looked down at her lap at his easy assumption that she'd be going with them, "Besides, it's nothing you haven't done before and you can't operate without your team," he had continued bluntly, and she realized he was right - she couldn't. She'd become dependent on her girls in a way that she had never intended to happen. They shouldn't have to share in her burdens, shouldn't have to face the constant danger that came with being around her. _I can't even guarantee full secrecy anymore now that just about the entire regiment knows who I am and the Germans are after me more than ever. Oh, God, what have I done?_

"Of course, if you'd rather I send them off to Chilton Foliat and have Herbert Sobel-"

Her eyes had widened. _Out of the question. _"No sir. I'll go, sir."

The announcement had thrilled the girls into a state of nervous excitement; the concept of paratroopers alone was novel enough, let alone women doing the actual jumping from planes. Though there would be little to show for their achievements - the lobbying process to get their training approved had taken long enough as it was and so jump wings were pretty much out of the question - the anticipation was palpable when they had climbed into a C-47 on the airfield a few days later, the paint used for the D-Day markings still vivid on its wings. Eleanor had gladly accepted Gale's hand to hoist herself inside; across from them, Sara had been looking around the aircraft dubiously.

"Why are we doing this again, ma'am?"

"Well," Eleanor had said, smiling thinly, "They're already calling us GI Jane. We might as well live up to it." Noticing how frankly terrified Sara seemed, she had sighed and sat down next to her friend, taking her hand and squeezing it tightly.

"It'll be okay," she had soothed her, all flippancy gone from her voice, "Just remember what you were trained to do. I'll be right there with you."

Sara had nodded, breathing out slowly and smiling tightly. Mere minutes later, she had jumped out of the C-47 and after Eleanor without protest and the former operative was once again left to marvel at the incredible - and utterly undeserved, as far as she was concerned - loyalty her team displayed towards her. Throwing oneself towards the ground from several thousand feet up in the air went against every single instinct a person had; the fact that all of the girls had done so without question was both extraordinary and went to show just how right she had been in picking them from the fifty-odd women they had started out with.

Now, sailing towards the ground, her heart was thumping wildly in her chest, the exhilaration of the jump and the anxiety of not yet knowing if her friends were all right blending into a potent mixture. The moment she hit the grass she was up and counting even as she stowed her chute away. _One. Two. Four. Seven. Nine. Ten. _They had made it. They were unscathed and grinning as they embraced each other in celebration. Eleanor, meanwhile, barely managed to keep herself upright. _Since then, at an uncertain hour, that agony returns... _

Maria grabbed her hand in exuberance and tugged her along, too thrilled to notice how pale her CO had become. Shaking her head, Eleanor pulled herself together in time to manage a smile and congratulate her team on their first successful jump; but her thoughts still raced, her chest too tight and her lungs struggling to draw in air even as she ordered them off back to the airfield. Deep down, she wondered if it would ever stop.

_And till my ghastly tale is told, this heart within me burns._

_

* * *

_

"So which one did you need to duck for again? The whizz-bang or the tea kettle?"

"Nobody said nothin' about a tea kettle. What's a tea kettle even sound like?"

Eleanor, still clad in her jumpsuit and her helmet stuck firmly underneath her arm, smiled to hear a group of newly arrived replacements having what seemed to be a discussion about artillery. The ride back to Aldbourne had gone some way in calming her nerves and now that she was back in town with lunch with Lew and Clarence Hester to look forward to, things were starting to look up again. Feeling suddenly playful, she whistled sharply, a perfect imitation of an incoming piece of shelling. Four startled pairs of eyes met her own as she grinned down at the new kids amusedly.

"That'd be it," she remarked drily, "Welcome to England, boys."

"Ma'am," one of them - a Hispanic lad with the slightest hint of baby fat filling out his round cheeks - said, staring at her almost reverently. Next to him, one of his buddies nudged a third replacement.

"What's she doing in a jumpsuit?" he whispered, obviously puzzled by the uncommon sight of a nurse in combat fatigues. _Great_, Eleanor thought, _I'll have to explain myself all over again..._

"If you hear them whistling that clearly, though, don't worry about it," she continued, figuring she might as well stick around and educate them a little, "Shell's going straight overhead."

"Really?" the youngest looking of them all asked, big brown eyes wide and fascinated, "How do you know so much about artillery, ma'am?"

Eleanor shrugged. "My unit operates along the front lines," she responded vaguely, deciding she would leave it at that for now, "I've been around ordnance for a while."

"You're on the _front_?" they chorused, shocked, and she smiled faintly.

"More often that not, yes."

"Holy Christ."

"No shit!" the fourth declared, immediately backtracking when he realized he had sworn in front of an officer, "Sorry, ma'am. No kidding, ma'am."

"No," she smiled, deciding she liked these four men a lot better already than the two cretins she had run into some time ago. "What are your names?"

"Leo Hashey, ma'am," the one who had cursed mere seconds ago introduced himself, "This is Tony Garcia, and these are-"

"John Julian and Ed Heffron," the redhead among them was quick to jump in, South Philly accent coming out strongly and smiling broadly as he reached to shake her hand, "My friends call me Babe."

"Babe, huh?" Eleanor chuckled, charmed by his boyish enthusiasm, "What on earth did you do to merit that?"

"It's a long story, Cap."

"I bet," she reflected, crossing her arms and scrutinizing the four of them briefly, musing on what company they would be in, "They teach you how to scope out a sniper yet?"

"Not really, no."

_Ah. The classic mistake of assuming the Krauts have no snipers simply because us Yanks don't. _"Okay," she began, _"_First of all, look up. Height is usually to their advantage. They like small, dark, hidden places with a good overview of the situation below." The four replacements nodded eagerly, listening intently; it was almost precious the way they were hanging on her every word.

"Second, listen. You can tell a lot by what the bullets sound like - you'll only be able to hear them clearly when you're directly in front of the rifle barrel. If there's a zip, it means they're passing a few meters from your ear. Which bring me to my last point - keep moving. Don't just drop to the ground and lie still. Always, always keep moving. Got it?"

"Yes ma'am."

"All right," she smiled, pleased by their willingness to listen and learn; too many of the new arrivals were far too blase and cocky for her liking. "Questions?"

"What about mortars, ma'am?" Garcia asked, and Heffron was nodding his head in agreement.

"Yeah! We've only ever seen 'em fired."

"Never been on the receiving end," Julian added, making Eleanor laugh.

"One would hope not," she observed mildly, beckoning the four of them to sit down. This might end up taking a while. "Right. There's two kinds of stuff: stuff going out - ours. I'm assuming you'll know what those sound like. Stuff coming in - theirs. Now, you'll need to learn to distinguish between the two..."

* * *

On the morning that David Webster - the private with the ridiculously big blue eyes who had been hit by shrapnel in France and had been on the ill-fated transport that had cost Katie her life - came to talk to Captain Winters, Eleanor was sharing his office for the day, perched in the window sill with a heap of reports as he sat behind his desk with an equally large amount of papers. The two of them working together formed an informal, virtually homely tableau that had Webster doing a double take as he came in before a look from Winters urged him to salute as he was due. The last time he had seen Eleanor she had been shooting Germans with frightening accuracy; finding her this relaxed and peaceful was a distinct and jolting contrast.

"Private Webster reporting, sir," he managed, dropping his salute after Winters returned it and turning to Eleanor with a nod of his head, "Ma'am."

"Private," she acknowledged him, automatically scanning him for any sign of injury or badly healed scars, "How's the wound?"

"Better, ma'am, thank you."

Winters looked up at him from behind his desk. "Something wrong with regimental HQ, Webster?"

"I joined the paratroops to fight, sir," the private said frankly, and Eleanor was reminded of his complaints about seeing little to no action back in Normandy. Apparently he had since made up his mind to get himself reassigned and get into the thick of things; she couldn't help but wonder what a man with his obvious level of education was doing as an enlisted private and so seemingly eager to fight at that.

"I see," Winters nodded pensively, frowning somewhat as he thought the matter through. "Easy went into Normandy with a hundred and thirty nine men. Seven weeks later, we're down to seventy four."

"Yes, sir."

"We have a lot of new guys coming in, with no idea what they're facing," the CO warned, but Webster seemed determined.

"I'd still like to transfer, sir."

"All right," Winters agreed at last, "Put in the paperwork. I'll see to it that you're reassigned to us." The private smiled and saluted, preparing to leave only to turn back when Winters called out to him.

"Sir?"

"You were a machine gunner, weren't you?"

"Assistant, yes sir."

Winters smiled. "Good. I've got a little job for you." He went on to explain his plan to train the replacements with the live ammo he had brought from France and Eleanor, remaining in the window, watched as Webster's eyes widened exponentially with every passing moment. When he had left, Dick met her gaze as she eyed him suspiciously, partially amused and partially worried about the eccentric scheme.

"What?" he asked, nonplussed, caught of guard by her scrutiny. She merely burst out laughing.

* * *

Lunch break rolled around and Eleanor headed towards the post office to phone Colonel Sink with a report on her unit's progress. It would save her a trip to the regimental headquarters and not for the first time she thanked the miracle that was modern technology for simplifying life the way it did. Just as she was about to head in via the blue painted front door of the old building, Nancy came walking out of it, a stack of papers in her hands; she was so absorbed by them she nearly bumped into Eleanor, the two of them saved from collision only by their mutually quick reflexes.

"Oh!" she breathed, surprised, "Sorry, captain."

Eleanor smiled, placating, sneaking a peek at what her friend was carrying. "Letters from home, Nance?"

"Yeah," Nancy said quietly, rifling through the envelopes listlessly, "There's almost half a dozen of them."

Not too long ago, letters from her family had been a great comfort and joy to Nancy; the fact that she seemed so downtrodden about them now immediately set alarm bells ringing in Eleanor's mind. "You know how long it takes for mail to get here," she said carefully, "They probably got bundled together."

"Probably."

_Okay, that obviously didn't work in drawing her out. Change in tactics. _"How's Hartford, then?"

"The same as always," Nancy said, pulling a face, "_Exactly_ the same." She was scowling so severely Eleanor knew she had hit the rub and sure enough, the nurse was launching into a weary explanation of what bothered her before too long.

"It all seems so... trivial, you know?" she sighed, "People are dying out here, and all my mom talks about is her church dinner. They really don't understand what it's like, do they?"

_We'd have a serious problem on our hands if they did,_ Eleanor wanted to say but bit her tongue before she had a chance to do so. "No," she said instead, shaking her head, "But how could they? The war is so far away for them."

"I know," Nancy said softly, running a hand through her hair in frustration, "It's probably best that way, too, but- I've killed people, Elle. How can I ever explain that to them?"

_Good question but entirely the wrong person to be asking it to, considering I can't even square it with myself. _"You don't have to," Eleanor said at length, opting for the only answer she knew- the annoyingly bland and generic. "You're serving your country and serving it well. That's all they need to know."

"What do you tell your brother?"

Eleanor huffed a laugh. "What, Philip?" she asked, smiling ruefully when Nancy nodded, "He's still berating me for giving up medical school to become a nurse."

"He doesn't know?" Nancy blurted, stunned to hear it, "Christ, even after all this time?"

"We're agents, Nance," Eleanor remarked, no trace of irony left, "There's no way of telling him, not until the war's over."

"May be a while, then."

Eleanor sighed. The only people who understood their situation, their hopes and fears and experiences, were the men and women they served with. There was no denying that. In many ways, they had become the family to replace the one so very far away, both physically and mentally. The world might rely on them, but they relied on each other more than they could possibly hope to explain.

"Maybe."

* * *

Having sent Nancy back to Saint Michael's before phoning Colonel Sink as required, Eleanor settled down on the bench in front of the post office and pulled out the picture Philip had sent her along with his recent letter. She frowned down at the black and white still, her fingers tracing the outline of the familiar features that were so like her own. _You must do your duty for the both of us. _How little he knew. Would he even recognize her if he were to see her now? Would he be able to take her into his arms and call her Nell as he used to, or would he be too horrified by the marks that the war had left upon her?

She was torn from her contemplation when another person plopped down next to her. Looking up, she was greeted by Skip Muck's eternally sunny expression. "Heeey, babydoll!" he drawled, bumping his shoulder against hers and whistling low when he noticed the photograph she was holding onto. "Captain Winters know you're staring at that?"

Eleanor smiled. "That's my brother, Skip," she told him patiently, tilting the picture so he could see it properly.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, realization dawning, "Yeah, now that you say it, he does sorta look like you. Good looks must run in the family, huh?"

"I'm fairly certain I missed out on that gene," she said, making an unconvinced little sound in the back of her throat. She had always relied on charms rather than looks as her strong point and had done so for good reason; he would be hard-pressed to convince her otherwise.

"Well, I'm fairly certain I disagree," Skip nudged, "He in the military too?"

"No. 4F."

The smile disappeared; being classified as unfit for duty was a tough break for most and Muck was well aware of this. "I'm sorry-"

"No, it's okay," Eleanor was quick to reassure him, "He's fine, just has some issues with his lungs. Do you have any siblings?"

Skip brightened at that, nodding eagerly. "A sister. Name's Ruth. Here..." he extracted two pieces of paper from his pocket and unfolded them in order to show them to her. "That's her, right there."

Momentarily studying the picture and the pretty girl in it, Eleanor's attention was soon drawn by the second image her friend had in his hands. The woman on it was smiling up at the camera almost flirtatiously and there was no hint of resemblance between her and Muck; Eleanor had a feeling this might not be a blood relative. "Who's the other girl?"

"That's Faye," Skip said, and his voice became wistful, "Faye Tanner. She's my girlfriend."

_As I thought then. _"She's gorgeous," she complimented, patting his knee, "You're a lucky man."

"I know I am," he beamed, looking down lovingly at his sweetheart's portrait, "I'm going to marry her when I get back, you know."

"If she'll have you," Eleanor teased, making him grin.

"If she'll have me," he agreed, leaning back against the wall behind them and basking in the warmth of the sun, "You're invited to the wedding, of course."

The nurse laughed. The number of marriages had already spiked since the war had started and she did not doubt the trend would continue for a good long while, perhaps even well after the battles were fought and all the men had returned home. "Between you, Lieutenant Welsh and half of the other fellas, I think I've got my social calendar set for the year," she commented cheerfully, returning Philip's picture to its place in her breast pocket.

Skip angled his head so he could look at her. "Shouldn't you be planning your own wedding?"

"Bit presumptive, don't you think?" she replied, quirking an eyebrow. She'd been involved with Dick for nary a month and as much as she liked the thought of a possible future with him, she knew better than to assume anything at this point. Skip shrugged.

"Hey, don't say I didn't tell you so when he does propose," he said, smiling when the slightest hint of a blush colored her cheeks, "Where's your brother live?"

"Louisiana."

"What, you've been hiding a southern drawl from us all this time, Ellie?"

"No," she sighed, stretching out her legs in front of her, "We lived there for a few years when I was very young. Philip went back for business."

"Huh. Where about in Louisiana?"

"Lafayette," she answered, closing her eyes as she thought of her old home, "I remember little of it, though - bits and pieces. Gumbo, though mostly because I didn't like it at the time. Our home. My parents dancing to the local folk music." She smiled, reminded of the LP her brother had bought for her. "Philip sent me this random record of Cajun songs, actually."

That caught Skip's attention. "Isn't Doc Roe Cajun?"

"Half-Cajun, I think," Eleanor frowned, confused by the unexpected question, "Why?"

"You and the girls were planning a dance to soon, weren't you?" he queried further, and by the way his cheeks were dimpling, he was definitely scheming something.

"Yes?" she half-asked, half-stated; it was no secret they had been putting together a night of entertainment for the men, but she was struggling to see the connection. _Cajun music. Dancing. Doc Roe. Wait a second..._

The dimples morphed into a full-fledged grin as he jumped up and held out a hand to her. They'd been meaning to cheer the ever-solemn Gene Roe for a while now and it seemed Skip might have just found a way to do it. Grasping the offered hand, she let him pull her up right and pat her on the shoulder happily.

"I think I know how we can get the good doctor to dance."

* * *

Their lunch break over, Eleanor joined Skip as he headed towards the area where his company was set to meet to do some weapons maintenance. The laughter and amicable conversation drifted up towards them long before they reached the site; most of the men were already there when they arrived, gathered around their platoon officers with their guns splayed out across their laps as they cleaned and serviced them.

"Hello, Easy Company."

Almost three platoons worth of heads turned towards her and smiled in recognition. These were the old guard, the men of the original company that had survived Normandy; she couldn't detect a single replacement among the sea of familiar faces.

"Hey, Captain!"

"Hiya, ma'am!"

Buck Compton flashed his megawatt smile and a friendly wink at her as she ambled over. "What are you doing here, Elle?"

She held up the piece of paper in her hand; when she had phoned Sink earlier, he had requested she pass on a note to Dick when she saw him next. "Got a message for Captain Winters."

From somewhere to her side, a voice began to sing. "A fine romance..." She turned to see George Luz grinning at her sheepishly. Things still weren't the same between them, but at least he was meeting her eyes again, something he had steadfastly refused to do until a few days ago. It seemed he had noticed how much this new distance between them had hurt her and was making an effort to fix it, but she feared it would take a while and a proper conversation or two before matters were fully put to rest.

"Funny, George," she said, infusing as much warmth and meaning into to the two words as she could. _I'm sorry you had to see what you did. I'm sorry I let you down. Jesus, George, I'm just so sorry about it all.  
_

"What, no love for the Luz?" he asked, mock-offended, and she smiled and reached out on impulse to ruffle his hair before even really realizing she had reverted to the old gesture of affection. To her relief, his grin remained firmly in place.

"Okay, how's about a kiss?"

She couldn't help but laugh at that. "_Very_ funny. Hey, Pat?"

The tall sergeant looked up from where he was oiling his machine gun. "Yes ma'am?"

"You might want to talk to Captain Winters," she observed ambiguously, glancing over towards where Dick was sitting with Harry - now his executive officer - a little further away.

"Any particular reason why, ma'am?"

"No," Eleanor smiled, just the slightest bit devious, "But a little bird told me it's got something to do with making the new boys sweat."

"Yes ma'am," Christenson laughed, saluting her dutifully once he had gotten up. She mirrored the obesiance and inclined her head at him briefly before watching him go and turning back to the company.

"How are the rifles then, fellas?"

"Not a hint of rust, ma'am," Perconte grinned proudly, showing his off as she crouched down besides him. Nearby, Hoobler - still a little sore after being wounded in France - shifted his legs around with an ill-suppressed grimace but beamed brightly nonetheless.

"Shiny like silver!"

"Might even be able to fire it from a horse without too much trouble, eh, captain?" More said, garnering chuckles of approval as the men remembered her madcap dash into Carentan. Eleanor briefly wondered what had become of Old Abe, if he had been adopted by a new unit of Allied troops or if he had been abandoned by the wayside much like the way she had found him. She supposed they would never know. _War is hell._

"Good," she murmured, squeezing More's shoulder, "I'm not sure the S-4 would-" Footsteps suddenly caught her attention, her whole face lighting up when she noticed who they belonged to. "Lip!"

The men looked up at her jovial exclamation, the majority of them rising to their feet as she did when they spotted the beloved sergeant headed towards them. Like many of their number, his movements were a bit tentative - courtesy of his injuries - but it was undeniably him and he was undeniably alive.

"Hey, sarge!" the troopers called out, eager to greet their friend, "Who let you out of the hospital, huh?"

Buck, being an officer, had the pleasure of being the first to shake his hand. "Welcome back, Lip."

"Sir," the mild-mannered NCO acknowledged, "Boys."

There was a spectacular scar on the right side of his face from the piece of shell that had hit him there, but Eleanor was more concerned to see the stiffness that seemed to linger in his arm and hand. The latter could cause far more trouble and was potentially problematic. Pushing aside her concern for the moment with the resolution to put him through a thorough medical check later, she smiled at him as she came up in front of him. "Sergeant Lipton," she said, returning his salute, "You look positively piratical."

"_Captain_ Fairfax, ma'am," he smiled, and it occurred to her suddenly that he must have no idea of her true assignment and mission - he had been evacuated before the whole debacle with the sniper. _Well, I guess I have some more explaining to do... _

"Congratulations on the promotion."

She shook her head; he was nothing if not respectful, something that though praiseworthy was currently uncalled for. It had been weeks since she had last seen him and she found that she had missed his company, his steady kindness and calming influence on the rest of the men. It was a relief to know he was all right and back where he belonged. "Enough with the formalities, Lip, come here," she reprimanded him gently, kissing his cheek before pulling him into a hug.

"Aw, come on!" Luz protested loudly, making the others laugh, "Now _he_ gets a kiss?"

"Luz, the man almost had his nuts blown off," Penkala remarked drily, shaking Lipton's hand when Eleanor had stepped back.

"Yeah, he deserves some love!" Malarkey agreed, giving the older man a heartfelt clap on the shoulder. He was the first of many; all of the men wanted to have their own reunion with the universally adored sergeant and it was a while before they were willing to leave him be at all.

"All right, all right, that's enough, boys," Lipton said finally, holding up his hands with a small smile before turning to Buck, "Sir, do you know where I could find the CO?"

"Captain Winters is right over there," Compton replied, pointing to where his fellow officers were seated. Lipton glanced at the two men and nodded slowly, pleased to note that Winters was now officially in charge. "He'll be happy to see you."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

"I'll come with," Eleanor offered, remembering the message she was meant to pass on to Winters; though it wasn't urgent, Sink would have her hide if she did not relay it to him soon. "Oh hey, fellas, remember that little bird I mentioned earlier?" she added, giving out the second piece of information she had intended to share with them, "It also told me you may want to head down to the eastern fields in an hour or two."

Laughter once again erupted around the area. The men might not be fully certain what was meant to be happening, but if it somehow involved making the replacements jump through hoops and earn their stripes, it would be a spectacle well worth seeing.

"Heigh-ho, silver!"

"Thank you, ma'am!"

Linking her arm with Lipton's, she walked with him as he went to report to his CO, paying careful attention to any sign of persisting pain or trauma he might unintentionally display. "So how are you feeling, Carwood?"

"I'm good, ma'am," he said, lips turning up a little when she shot him an unimpressed look, "_Ellie_. I'm glad to be back."

"Well, we're glad to _have_ you back," she reflected, knowing even that was an understatement, "The men have missed having you around."

"As I have missed them. It's a relief I didn't have to be reassigned."

She hummed thoughtfully, inwardly tallying the sheer number of men who had returned to Aldbourne prematurely for that exact same reason. "I can imagine," she said, tightening her hold on his arm briefly, "With the new recruits coming in, we'll need all the Toccoa men we can get."

Lipton nodded. "Exactly what is meant to be happening in those eastern fields?"

"Oh, just a training exercise," she answered breezily, halting them in front of two of her best friends. "Dick, Harry," she greeted them, "Look who I found."

"Carwood, hey!" Winters smiled, genuinely pleased to see the man he fully intended to promote to first sergeant the moment he was cleared for duty, "I thought you weren't meant to be back for another week."

"No, sir, but I didn't want to be moved to some other unit."

Harry, getting to his feet with a groan, reached out to shake Lipton's hand. "Great. Another one to add to the list."

"The list, sir?"

Eleanor smirked. "It seems this whole going AWOL thing is becoming a bit of a tradition with Easy," she explained, amused by Harry's complaints. She knew he really admired the men for returning as soon as they did, but that didn't mean he wouldn't grouse about the extra work it put on his plate.

"Yeah, and guess who gets to field all the questions about it."

"Oh, stop complaining, Welshy," she reprimanded him with a good-natured thump against his arm, handing the slip of paper she had scrabbled Sink's message on to Winters. "Colonel Sink asked me to pass this on to you."

"Thanks," he said, eyes scanning the note rapidly before refolding it, "Actually, Walter Gordon's just back from the hospital as well, crutches and all. Seems he sweet talked some nurse into letting him go."

"What do they teach those girls these days?" Eleanor asked rhetorically, shaking her head with a smile, "You want me to make sure he's all right?"

"Could you?" Dick said gratefully, busy enough as was, "I sent him to the infirmary earlier."

"Of course," she reassured him, happy to help out where she could. Besides, Gordon was entertaining company; she did not doubt hearing him try to explain his premature arrival would be a hoot. "I'll leave you three to talk."

* * *

"Hey hey, angel face!"

Sure enough, by the time she made it back to Saint Michael's, Gordon was already attempting to charm Sara into letting him go with a clean bill of health. Thankfully, like all of Ellie's girls, Sara was neither easily impressed or in any way a pushover; she was staring down at her patient warily when her boss came in.

"Smokey," Eleanor greeted him, recalling how he had greeted her much the same way when she had last seen him, "How's the boil?"

"Gone and forgotten, ma'am!" he grinned, lifting up his leg as if to show her just how much. Sara passed the clipboard with her notes to Eleanor.

"He's been trying to convince me he's fine for almost half an hour now," she remarked. It wasn't hard to detect the undertone of skepticism in her voice and the two nurses exchanged a look.

"But I _am_ fine!" the corporal exclaimed, jumping up from the examination table and hopping onto his feet, "See? Fine as wine in summertime, I tell you. I can even-" As abruptly as he had gotten up, he was stumbling and threatening to fall down again. Eleanor lurched forward and caught him easily, slinging his arm across her shoulders.

"Whoa there," she said, patiently, as if she were talking to a very young child, "We'll keep those crutches around for a while, won't we?"

Gordon sighed, disappointed, but grudgingly agreed to her demand. "Yes ma'am."

His despondency made her heart ache, his unvoiced concerns over not being able to be with his friends all too recognizable. Speculation on their imminent redeployment was rife around the town; being deemed unfit for duty would surely mean he would have to sit the next jump out, which in turn would entail him being detailed to another company. It wasn't a thought either of them were particularly wild about.

"Don't worry, Walter," she encouraged him warmly, helping him back onto the table, "You'll be good as new in no time. Until then, I'll see what I can do, all right?"

Brown eyes lit up instantly and turned to her in hope. "Would you really, ma'am?"

Eleanor smiled. "It'll be our little secret."

* * *

As Eleanor had alerted the old hands of Easy to, the muddy eastern fields were abuzz with fresh-faced replacements a couple of hours later. In the midst of it all, Christenson and Webster were loading up a machine gun with the live ammo Winters had brought back from France, neither of them at all convinced that this whole exercise would be such a good idea.

"One of these dumb-ass replacements get hurt and they'll rip those captain bars right off his collar," Christenson noted glumly, more than a little worried about the prospect of going through target practice with real bullets. Things could go wrong very easily and the last thing they wanted was to lose the first proper commanding officer the company had known since being formed back in Toccoa. Besides him, Webster eyed Winters apprehensively before shifting his gaze to where Eleanor was leaning against the fence.

"Hers too, with our kind of luck."

Eleanor, watching from the sidelines, bit her lip in worry. She had tried and failed to dissuade Dick from actually going through with this plan and while she saw the wisdom in acclimatizing the newbies to realistic combat situations, it was a risky plan at best. Looking around the new faces, she recognized the foursome she had met previously and smiled at them briefly as Winters began his briefing.

"We found in Normandy that the key to a successful assault on an enemy position is to lay down a good, steady base of fire and then advance right under it."

One of the new lieutenants - a gangly youth by the name of Peacock, if she remembered correctly - looked alarmed, his eyes widening to impossible proportions. "Did he say _under_ it?"

Martin and Guarnere, both of them with a new set of stripes stitched onto their uniforms, joined Eleanor at the fence at the same time.

"Hey, Cap."

"Boys," she said, lazily leaning against the wood, "This oughta be fun."

"Just remember to keep your heads down and keep moving," Winters was saying, and Martin shook his head in disbelief.

"Is he actually going to use live ammo on these schmucks?"

Eleanor grinned, darkly amused. "Oh, I think he is."

"Can't believe I thought he was a goddamn Quaker," Guarnere snorted, but there was a hint of admiration in his tone that made her smile. It seemed Winters had warranted even Wild Bill's unequivocal respect.

"Sir, does this mean officers, too?" Peacock asked hesitantly, and Eleanor could have sworn she saw Winters smile.

"_Especially_ officers. Christenson!"

"Sir?"

"Covering fire!" he called out. The machine gun team opened up dutifully, unable to hide their grins when the replacements paled and wavered. "All right, first group, let's move out!"

Winters - leading the way as always - began to crawl through the mud, the new company members following him hesitantly as Guarnere and Martin laughed and watched them squirm. When the exercise was over at last, the mud that now covered the men from head to toe was beginning to cake as they trudged off the field underneath the afternoon sun. Judy, Maria and Grace - having joined Eleanor at the fence at some point halfway through - offered them glasses of cool lemonade, striking up pleasant conversations with some and simply smiling kindly at others. They were little touches in the grand scheme of things, but it was good to see the girls enjoying themselves and bonding with the new troopers. Both sides needed all the encouragement they could get; the rumors about a new mission that were already swirling were growing consistently more persistent. It might only be a matter of days before they were deployed again.

At the very end of the trail of soldiers slogging off the field was Dick Winters, every bit as dirty as his men, the blue of his eyes standing out even more than usual amidst the grime. Eleanor walked over to him, her own eyes dancing as she crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side. "Never thought you'd have a mean streak in you, Captain Winters," she teased, heart skipping a beat when he ducked his head and smiled crookedly. "For Pete's sake, there's mud in your _ear_," she grinned, moving to swipe it away, her hand lingering on the edge of his jaw a little longer than was strictly necessary. His gaze was soft as he looked at her and for a moment it seemed like there was only the two of them, but then someone cleared their throat behind them and Eleanor looked over her shoulder to see Maria raising an amused eyebrow at them.

Both of their cheeks coloring, they turned and headed back towards the village, remaining silent until they were certain they were out of earshot. Shifting his helmet under his arm, Dick smiled when Eleanor skipped over a puddle, her heels clicking on the asphalt. "You coming to the mess tonight?"

"Yeah, Gordon asked me to come along," she replied, recalling her conversation with Smokey earlier that day. He'd told her to join them for chow that night but had not given any specific reason for the request. "Goodness knows why."

"Think he's up to something?"

"Isn't he always?" she said with a fond shake of her head, laughing when they turned a corner and More and Malarkey whizzed by on their motorcycle.

"Ellie!" they hollered, bolting upright in their seats to wave at her, zooming past within the blink of an eye. They were no doubt off on another of their adventures, making use of their downtime to explore the English countryside and simply enjoy being young and alive. Eleanor had lost track of the number of times she'd been quizzed over the best places to visit and the easiest ways to get to them; it seemed the boys were falling in love with Britain as much as she had ever been.

"I'm not sure what's more dangerous, the live ammo or the motorcycle," she remarked ruefully to Winters, watching the two men disappear into the distance, "But it's the cheeriest I've seen them in a long while."

Dick chuckled. "Oh, ye of little faith."

"I know, I know," Eleanor grumbled, rolling her eyes, "I should just follow your inane instincts."

"They've worked out well in the past."

_Well, yes, but... _"Like that time when you and Harry decided it was a good idea to wedge out a ricochet with a trench knife?" she challenged, shooting him a look, "You're right, that was _endlessly_ clever."

"It was fine in the end, wasn't it?"

"And whose doing was that?"

Glancing around briefly to make sure they were in fact alone, he grasped her hand and pulled her close, pressing his lips to hers and effectively shutting her up. He smiled into the kiss as she melted against him. "Yours."

* * *

"Eh, look who it is, fellas! Captain Fairfax and her lieutenants!"

Cheers went up around the converted barn as Eleanor and her girls entered that evening, Toye's delighted exclamation having drawn all of their attention towards the entrance. Eleanor smiled, zigzagging past the enlisted men as her team sat down amongst them. Halfway along, she caught Walter Gordon's eyes, silent understanding passing between the two of them before she patted him on the shoulder affably, careful not to upset the precarious balance of his crutches. "Back for more, Smokey?"

Gordon grinned cheekily. "Of you, ma'am, always." Whistles promptly erupted amongst the crowd and Eleanor barely kept herself from laughing, instead wagging a finger at him pointedly.

"Watch it, you."

She headed over towards the officers' table, nodding vaguely at the replacement lieutenants before settling down besides her friends. "Harry, Buck," she greeted them, neatly crossing her legs at the ankle and folding them beneath her seat, "What'd I miss?"

"Nothing yet," Compton reassured her, watching the men buzz around and exchange banter with an affectionate smile. All thoughts of an upcoming redeployment seemed forgotten; for the time being, they were just happy to be together, well-supplied and accommodated. The war once again seemed miles away.

"Anyone know what this is about?" Welsh wanted to know, turning to Eleanor. She shrugged just as Muck shouted for Hoobler to be quiet.

"Your guess is as good as mine."

Something resembling silence fell over the room and, in the midst of it all, Smokey cleared his throat almost ominously. "The night of the bayonet..."

Two and two came together and Eleanor smirked. "Oh boy."

"What?"

"You heard what happened to Talbert, right?"

Harry frowned. "Bayonet wou-" His eyebrows shot back up. "_Oh._"

"The night was filled with dark and cold when Sergeant Talbert, the story's told, pulled on his poncho and headed out, to check the lines dressed like a Kraut."

Malarkey and More staggered in, both less than sober and grinning like idiots, and the redhead among them rubbed Talbert over the head jokingly. "Why is everyone in such a hurry to get back, huh? Hospital food don't suit ya?"

"We don't need you anymore, Tab," More added, settling down on one of the benches, "You seen some of these new kids..."

"Upon a trooper our hero came, fast asleep, he called his name; Smith, oh Smith, get up, it's time, to take your turn out on the line! Then Smith, so very weary, cracked an eye, all red and bleary..."

Eleanor couldn't stop grinning. She had always known Gordon had a touch of the poet in him, but this carefully crafted satire of the bayonet incident was downright hilarious. It was obvious he'd had some time on his hands while recovering in the hospital; it was a solid bit of rhyme. She was so engrossed by it that she initially did not notice Lew Nixon entering the area, looking grave as he hailed Winters and talked to him in hushed tones before gathering the other officers around.

"Harry," he called, "Buck, get Lip, will you?"

Buck, recognizing the severity of the situation, nodded and tapped Lipton on the thigh to get his attention. "Hey, Lip."

"Grabbed his rifle, he did not tarry..."

Having caught on to the fact that something was happening, Eleanor turned to Nixon, eyes troubled. "Nix?" she asked softly, almost plaintively, and his simple nod was all she needed to know that the day had finally come. The 506th was about to move out again. She wasn't sure what to feel, staring around the room dazedly- at the boys as they roared with laughter, arms slung around each other and her girls, the painfully untried replacements sitting off to the side- at Betty carelessly perched on Toye's lap (she'd have to talk to her about that), at Anne leaning into Liebgott's surprisingly gentle embrace, at Nancy staring somewhat longingly at Talbert and Bill Guarnere casually ribbing Babe Heffron at the opposite end of the room. She watched them all, lovingly, sadly, heart warring within her.

"It's me, cried Tab, don't do it! And yet Smith charged, toute de suite, with bayonet."

She felt her chest constrict as Winters' words echoed through her mind. _You're Ellie. Our Ellie. _She looked down at her hands despairingly, biting her lip, only to have her head snap up when she felt an unexpected touch on her bicep. Harry was squeezing her arm gently, perceiving her distress, and she smiled weakly at him. _Christ, how can I ever leave them behind?_

Getting up alongside Compton and Welsh, she followed them to their meeting without a word, hearing the uproar in the barn as Lipton stayed behind to make the dreaded announcement. She didn't envy him his position one bit. Winters was already on the phone with headquarters when the rest of the company officers came in, discussing briefings and how to go about the necessary preparations with whomever was on the other side of the line. Their eyes met across the room - his concerned, hers unreadable - and suddenly her mind cleared, the answer becoming quite obvious to her right then and there. Moving swiftly ahead of the commissioned men of Easy, she held out her hand in a silent request for the telephone, quietly imploring. After briefly explaining the situation to the person he was talking to, Winters handed it to her, their eyes never leaving the other's as she grasped it tightly and held it to her ear.

"Colonel Sink, sir?" she said firmly, waiting for his confirmation before continuing, "I've made my choice. I'm staying."

The colonel's answer barely registered. All she could see was Dick's relieved smile and the way his eyes shone with tenderness, and she knew she had made the right decision. _To hell with Gubbins being my first call. To hell with the past. This is where I belong._

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**Thank you once again for all of your wonderful reviews - rereading the last chapter had me cringing several times over. It's true that I've been preoccupied with work and generally busy of late, but oi vey, such silly mistakes... I hope this one's a little better, at least.  
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**And yes, Ellie's staying, though I'll assure you now that she'll be no less independent or kickass because of it. :) There's plenty of action to come, so stay tuned! Thanks again and please don't forget to review! **


	24. Darn That Dream

**Disclaimer: this story is based chiefly on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.**

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The moment Eleanor had conveyed her decision to stay to Colonel Sink, she had been thrown head first into a maelstrom of preparations. _Get your team ready,_ she'd been told, _you're jumping into France. _At first she had balked at the idea; they had only completed three out of the five mandatory training jumps and being parachuted straight into combat was something even she hadn't done before. When she had initially agreed to getting her unit drilled at Chilton Foliat she hadn't stopped to think what it might mean when the inevitable redeployment rolled around, but faced with the prospect of her girls ending up scattered across the French countryside, isolated and vulnerable and unarmed, she had pleaded with her superiors to allow them to carry weapons. Her request had (perhaps not surprisingly) been denied with a steely reminder that they were meant to be non combatants, that their doing combat jumps was unheard of to begin with and she should be focusing her energy on making sure they didn't blend in too much. Women, after all, had a marginally larger chance of not getting shot at.

Orders were orders. Climbing into the truck that would carry them to Membury, she had satisfied herself with the supposition that they would be in much the same situation as the regular medics - save of course for the fact that Gene Roe and his colleagues definitely weren't female. Setting themselves apart from the men was a more difficult task than one might imagine, however. Over time it had become exceedingly obvious the army wasn't used to women; most of the clothes they were provided with were either ill-fitted, badly manufactured or just plain awkward. As a result, her team had begun to wear a diverse mishmash of nursing corps pieces and general issue paratrooper wear, all of them altered and modified to provide the highest standard of utility possible. Though hardly ideal, the patchworked uniforms had thus far sufficed and hadn't been a real problem; in fact, wearing the same olive drab and khaki apparel as the men had earned them a certain regard amongst the GIs, a feeling that they weren't just girls playing at being Florence Nightingale.

Yet it seemed to be an ongoing irony that the very things that endeared them to the regiment - the little matters that made them a part of the family - were the very same things that got them into trouble. Just the other day General Taylor had seen it fit to award the team with the distinctive screaming eagle patch of the hundred-and-first airborne, something they had worn on their sleeves with pride ever since; it wasn't often that nurses were given divisional badges, usually restricted to bearing the marks of broader ground forces like the first army, so this had been a rare accolade that felt all the more special when the boys of the 506th had been quick to extend their approval. It was only now becoming apparent that their success at fitting into the army life style and their talent for making do might very easily get them killed if they were mistaken for a man while on the line. All it would take was an ample distance to blur their more feminine features or an adequately jumpy enemy soldier and they would be a prime target.

Despite the unease she refused to show - it wouldn't do for the girls to get worried - but was filled to the brim with, Eleanor had set work resignedly. _I've dug my own grave and now must lay in it. I just hope it'll only be my own. _By sunrise on August 19, they were ready. It was hard to believe that only a month had gone by since the launch of the invasion of France, never mind that it had been so successful at that. It seemed like a lifetime ago and yet felt like only a few days had passed. _We made history that day,_ one of the regimental staff had mused to her before they had left Aldbourne, and she supposed he was right. As strange as it was to think of it that way, having been caught up in the very midst of it herself, there was no denying that it had been an immense operation that could have quite easily turned out very differently. At any rate, she doubted that she would ever be able to fully associate the 'D-Day' term with anything but the Normandy landings- though that did not take away any of the suspense surrounding the imminent jump into Chartres.

Levels of activity around the airfield had risen along with the sun and take off was now fast approaching. The mood of the men was subdued; there were no eager shouts of adrenaline-fueled excitement, no sweeping, arrogant proclamations that Hitler better watch his back because the 101st was coming for him. Not this time. They geared up with a new found solemnity and double checked everything, grateful there would be no damned leg bags this time, shaking hands and wishing each other luck. More than a few prayed. Eleanor lost count of how many goodbyes she had said and how many cheeks she had kissed; there had been so many men clamoring to see the girls off that she'd had trouble getting them ready. She was on her way to find Dick when a sudden loud clamor in one of the nearby tents caught her attention. Curiosity piqued, she located where the noise was coming from and changed course, pulling aside the canvas flap only to duck when an unidentified object came flying her way.

"Whoa, hey!" she exclaimed, straightening out and holding up her hands. A quick scan of the area revealed it was one of the replacements - the red-head with the funny nickname - who had thrown whatever it was she had just dodged, and he wasn't looking happy. There was a crumpled set of papers lying somewhere near his feet; she guessed he had gotten bad news of some kind but felt obliged to ask regardless.

"Take it easy," she soothed, watching his chest heave and hands tighten into fists. His entire posture screamed 'upset'. "What's wrong?"

Heffron glowered and shook his head. "Ah, it ain't nothin', captain."

"That doesn't look like nothing to me," she remarked drily, allowing herself a small smile as she pointed at an overturned cot. _Seems the boy has a bit of a temper on him, huh?_

"'s Fine," he muttered, but his scowl deepened in a way that told her otherwise, "Just- fine."

She arched an unconvinced eyebrow, her tone skeptical. "Sure."

"A goddamn _letter_?" the private exploded and she would have flinched at the forcefulness of it had it not been entirely anticipated. "That's all I get? I go off to fight a fucking war and she-" he kicked against one of the footlockers, realizing he had already said more than he had intended to. "_Shit._"

Eleanor crossed her arms calmly, waiting until he had settled down. She watched his shoulders slump and the fight go out of him, heart aching when she noticed how young he looked now that the anger was draining from him somewhat. Tensions were already running high - everyone was on edge right before deployment - but whatever was in that letter had obviously hurt him enough to set off this tirade.

"Girl trouble?" she speculated, knowing she had hit the nail on its head when he sighed and flopped down onto an abandoned crate, long limbs splaying everywhere.

"Yeah," he said, glaring accusingly at the discarded papers a few meters away, "The broad I was seeing back home wrote me one of them letters- y'know, 'dear John'..."

His voice trailed off and she seated herself besides him tentatively. "I see," she nodded in understanding, tilting her head to regard him, "I'm sorry, Babe."

"Yeah. Me too," he agreed quietly, broad mouth quirking up into a smile when he realized what she'd called him. "You remembered my name, huh?"

"Of course," she acknowledged, mirroring his smile; they had only met once but she had always made a conscious effort to learn the men's names, plus his moniker was odd enough that it left an impression. "It's kinda hard to forget."

"Yeah, but I bet you meet a lotta guys around here."

"Too damn many!" she teased, happy to see his smile morph into a grin at the jest. She patted his knee consolingly. "Look, for what it's worth, I'd say it's her loss."

"Thanks, Cap, that's nice of ya to say." He eyed her for a moment, pensive, nose scrunching a little. "You're a dame," he said, oblivious that she barely managed to bite back a sarcastic retort, "Would you just abandon someone like that?"

Eleanor glanced down at her lap, hand unconsciously coming up to touch the silk scarf that she had retied around her neck. _I didn't, in the end, but I very easily could have... and look where doing the right thing has gotten me- leading my unit into battle unarmed, unprepared... _she shook her head and forced herself to focus. "I don't think it's as simple as you make it out to be," she said slowly, thinking back to the hours of agonized consideration, "The world isn't black and white, Ed. It's never that easy."

"But you still think she's the one losing out."

Realizing he was really only interested in her confirmation that it was all his ex-girlfriend's fault, she smiled and brushed out a largely imaginary crease in her trousers. "Fella like you, how could she not be?" she winked, getting to her feet and motioning for him to do the same. "Come on, we've got jump stars to earn."

"Yes ma'am," he said obediently, grabbing his helmet and various pieces of gear before following her back outside, "You even gettin' any stars?"

"No," she sighed, shrugging, "Such is life." Glancing at her watch, she realized she had better get a move on if she were to see Dick and the other officers prior to take off. She halted and turned to Babe, holding out her hand to him. "Good luck, private."

To her utter surprise, he waived the proffered handshake and caught her up in an embrace instead, holding on tight for a long moment. It wasn't uncommon for the old guard to be this familiar around her, especially not in circumstances like these, but Babe was new to the company and barely knew her. The move was unexpected and more than a little inappropriate given that she was an officer. Before things could get too awkward someone thankfully came to her rescue, clearing their throat discreetly behind Babe's back.

"Why are you not in your harness, Private Heffron?"

The redhead backed away in an instant, shamefaced, as he was confronted by his company's first sergeant. "Sorry, sarge," he offered sheepishly, saluting Eleanor quickly before dashing off, leaving her to stare after him with faint if confused amusement. Lipton, meanwhile, was apologetic.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. Heffron can be a little-" he paused, contemplating his choice of words, "Impulsive."

"It's all right, Carwood," she told the NCO with a smile, not particularly fazed by the incident. Babe was just a kid searching for some sympathy; she had just happened to be there to give it to him. Realizing that Lipton was hanging around for longer than strictly necessary, she reached out to touch his arm. "Something I can help you with?"

"Actually, ma'am, could I talk to you for a minute?"

"Of course," she said, smile fading at how serious he sounded, "What's on your mind?"

"The boys and I were talking- the army doesn't provide you with a life insurance, does it?"

Eleanor's expression darkened. _When all is said and done, we are female non combatants, and we are treated as such. _"No, it doesn't. Why?"

"Well, we've agreed that if one of your girls was to- you know-" he gestured helplessly, and she nodded, wondering where he was going with this, "If that was to happen, we'll put together what money we can and send it to their families."

_Oh my God._ Eleanor felt her jaw drop, all words escaping her as her throat constricted and the impact of what he was saying hit her full force. Not only was it incredibly generous - even with the extra fifty dollars a month, the men weren't paid that much - it was also deeply thoughtful of them to have discussed the issue at all. She had heard whispers about it but hadn't dared to dream they would ever actually go through with it.

"It wouldn't be much," Lipton added hastily, as if it were some terrible wrongdoing, "But it doesn't seem right that you don't get anything when you-" He frowned, becoming worried by her silence, "Ma'am?"

Eleanor was too touched to speak, feeling the sting of tears in her eyes - _how easily they came these days _- as she launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck in an utterly uncharacteristic display of emotion. This time, it was Lipton who returned the embrace cautiously and patted her back, a little startled by the sudden affection.

"Thank you," she managed to whisper, closing her eyes when he she felt rather than saw him smile and he tightened his hold on her.

"You're welcome, Elle."

Whatever problems might arise over their role within the regiment, this was a family that looked after its own - whether it concerned shoulder patches or making sure loved ones were provided for - and one she was happy to be included in. If dealing with logistical issues and random acts of discrimination meant she could stay and serve with these extraordinary men, it was a sacrifice she was happy to make_._

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* * *

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_Farewell to old England forever, farewell to my rum culls as well..._

Eleanor hummed to herself softly, voice barely perceptible over the roar of the C-47's engines and hands clasped between her knees as though in prayer. The weight of her pack and parachutes was comforting if strenuous on her shoulders, her mind quiet and her body tense as they often were just before combat jumps. From what she could tell they were about halfway to France and making steady progress; though the plane itself was stuffy and quavered constantly, the skies were clear and the conditions favorable for a daytime jump. Things weren't looking so bad for the time being. Lifting her eyes, she met Gale's inquisitive gaze across the aisle and returned her smile, song fading from her lips.

"That's pretty, Captain," the nurse observed, fidgeting with a strap on the equipment bag attached to her harness. Eleanor inclined her head, thinking of the soldier from halfway across the world who had taught her the ditty after a chance meeting in London.

"Thanks," she said, reaching over to help Gale with the fastenings, "It's an old song the Australians are very fond of."

A few seats down, Margaret tried to say something but went unheard as the plane hit a small bump of turbulence. Eleanor, tapping her ear, gestured for her to repeat herself.

"Can we sing something together?" Margaret tried again, louder this time, "Y'know, to pass the time."

Next to Eleanor, Maria chuckled in amusement, shaking her head. "I swear, ma'am, between the singing and the tea it's almost as if you have some kind of secret plan to make us all English."

"Darn, is it that obvious?" Eleanor grinned, well aware the girls were starting to take over some of her more British habits, "Any preferences?"

Sara waved her hand like an overly keen school child eager to gain her CO's attention. "Ma'am?"

"Yeah, Sara?"

"What about _The Old Rugged Cross_?"

Sounds of consent went up around the plane and Eleanor was quick to agree as well. The hymn was appropriate enough, really, and shared prayer - even when sung - was never a bad idea. Breathing in deeply, she began to sing. "On a hill faraway stood an old rugged cross..."

They had made it to the third repetition of the refrain when the C-47 unexpectedly lurched sideways and all of them fell quiet, sharing looks of confusion and mild alarm. Betty, acting as the push woman at the very back of the plane, had the frame of mind to glance out of one of the small windows and turned back to Eleanor with a frown. "Ma'am, are we _turning_?"

"Sure feels like it," the captain called back, getting up with some difficulty and clinging to the wire overhead as she made her way to the door. Prying it open and staring down at the world beneath, she was astounded to note that they were indeed turning- turning back, in fact.

"What's going on?" she asked the pilots once she had made her way into the cockpit, recognizing the other C-47s flying ahead of them. The lieutenant who acted as co-pilot seemed decidedly uncomfortable, though she wasn't sure if it was because of her barging in without any regard to ceremony or because of whatever reasons they had been given for the diversion in their flightpath.

"I don't know, ma'am," he answered her truthfully, "We're being ordered back to Upottery."

_What on earth..._

The second the plane had landed and the engines had been switched off, Eleanor jumped out of the doorway and onto the tarmac, her heavy gear almost causing her to lose her balance in the process. Theirs had been the last plane to arrive back on English soil and all around them the men had already clambered out of their aircrafts, whooping and dancing and generally celebrating. For a brief instant the absurd thought that the war might be over crossed her mind, but before she had time to formulate the question properly she was being hoisted onto Talbert and Grant's shoulders and jostled about merrily.

"What's going on?" she asked loudly, hanging on to the straps of Chuck's harness for dear life and amazed they were actually able to lift her. The others girls were descending the plane as well, soon swept up in the festivities by the exhilarated men despite having no idea what was going on.

"Jump got cancelled!" More hollered over the clamor, dragging a bewildered Grace through what passed as an impromptu polka.

"No shit!" Martin called back from where he was helping Bull light a cigar, grin impossibly broad despite the bite of his remark. Around them, the replacements were laughing with relief, Babe's arm slung around Julian's shoulders and Hashey shaking Garcia's hand vigorously. Eleanor laughed, waving at the company's officers as they approached from where they had been conversing a little further away. She smacked Talbert on his helmet by ways of a request to be let down, tearing off her own cover as she jogged towards Dick and the others.

"The hell just happened?"

Dick's smile was triumphant; he looked as though he could barely keep himself from taking her into his own arms right there and then. "General Patton overran our dropzone."

"You're serious!" she exclaimed, eyes widening. She had known the Allied advance was moving ahead rapidly but Patton actually overrunning their intended target was a surprise to say the least.

"Oh yeah," Nixon smirked, less restrained in his urge to embrace her and pulling her against his side warmly, "We're on stand down."

Eleanor was unable to stop herself from grinning then, the elated relief she had already felt tripling in an instant. "Good old Blood and Guts," she said fondly, snuggling into Lew's hold and relishing in the elation of the moment - the heat of the sun on her face, the unspoiled air that filled her lungs, the sounds of rejoicing that surrounded her completely. _Talk about a stay of execution. Happy days are here again..._

"So now what?"

"We're headed to Aldbourne to await further orders," Winters replied, watching the men leaping about and deciding it was time to get them back into order. "Excuse me..."

"Seems like our summer holiday ain't over yet, don't it?" Harry remarked cheerfully, smacking Nix on the arm as the intelligence officer was called away as well. Eleanor watched them go, already thinking ahead; maybe now that there was more time, she might be able to convince Sink and Taylor to equip her team better.

"Apparently not."

Shading her eyes from the bright afternoon light, she tried to find her girls amongst the masses just as Winters climbed on a nearby jeep to address his men. "Easy Company, listen up!"

Welsh stiffened at her side without warning, going rigid, his expression unsmiling as he caught his breath. "Jesus."

Perturbed by the abrupt change in his mood, Eleanor's gaze whipped back toward him sharply. "What?" she pressed, laying a hand on his shoulder when he clenched his jaw but didn't respond, "Harry, what is it?"

"Tommy Meehan stood on that same jeep when the last jump got postponed," he muttered, cringing when the men broke into cheers at the news that the mission to Chartres was officially called off.

"Oh," Eleanor breathed, her heart sinking at the memory of her fallen friend and taken aback by the unmasked grief flickering in the eyes of the one who still remained. _Not in the hands of boys but in their eyes shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes... _

"Yeah," Welsh said bleakly, "Used the same words, too." He shook his head. "Hell of a way to die."

"Harry..."

"Don't," he snapped, breathing out harshly when she withdrew her hand. "I'm sorry, it's-"

"Hey," she said softly, unconsciously moving closer to him, "I understand." The words _I miss him too_ were left unsaid. She _did_ understand; the strain of the day's build up and the ghost of an old friend made for a potent and unpleasant combination. They were everywhere, these little reminders of the people they had lost - certain events or incidences, certain places and items - and while they usually managed not to dwell on them, every once in a while they would inevitably catch up with even the hardiest of men.

"He was married, y'know. Lovely girl called Anne. Sometimes-" Welsh halted, rubbing at his temple wearily, "I wonder what would happen to Kitty if I got hit. If she'd even find out."

"Don't say that," Eleanor implored, mostly because she didn't so much as _want_ to consider the possibility of him getting hurt - let alone dying - but also because if there was one thing she was absolutely certain of, it was that Easy would never let something like that happen. Lipton's earlier confirmation of their secretive arrangements to help out the families of her team only served as proof of that.

"We'd make sure she would know," she vowed quietly, "And we'd make sure she'd be all right. You've got to believe that."

Harry sighed, smiling slightly as he nudged his shoulder into hers. "I know you would." Eleanor fought the urge to cheer in relief. It pained her to see her usually endlessly upbeat friend so worn down and gloomy; the day Harry Welsh became jaded would be a dark day indeed. Seeing Nancy approaching them, the company XO folded his arms.

"No celebrations for you, Campbell?"

The girl ducked her head but didn't blush or stammer as she would have before. _Gosh, she really has grown up, hasn't she? _"I only wanted to ask what our orders were, sir."

"Get rid off your gear, get ready for the trip back to Aldbourne," Eleanor told her, eyes crinkling as Welsh made to light a cigarette, "And enjoy yourselves until we leave."

* * *

"_And with the lovely laugh of love that takes the whole soul prisoner ere the whole sense wakes_..."

Eleanor, stretched out in the grass of one of Aldbourne's more remote pastures, held up the old book against the dappled light of the sun falling through the canopy of leaves overhead. She was reading aloud, voice regaining some of its British enunciation as she wove through the passages and spun tales of epic romance, the warm air surrounding her infused with the smell of summer flowers. It was one of those lazy, almost dreamlike Sunday afternoons where the whole world seemed to stretch no further than her immediate surroundings and the war felt further away than ever. Tilting her head back where it was pillowed comfortably on Dick's legs, she smiled at the far-off look on his face as he ran his fingers through her hair. Unlike her, his mind seemed to be in another place entirely; the canceled jump into France had served as a wake up call of sorts and his efforts to get his company integrated and ready for action had only doubled since their return to town.

"_Her lips for love's sake bade love's will be done, and all the sea lay subject to the sun._"

Finishing the stanza, she snapped the tome shut abruptly and fought to keep a straight face when he startled and blinked down at her. "I think we'll leave it at that for today," she said mildly, rising up and twisting her body around until she was sitting on her knees, regarding him fondly as he shook his head in protest.

"No, no, please don't stop-"

"Darling, I can practically hear you think," she remarked wryly, putting the book down by her side, "What's it this time, company rosters?"

He lowered his eyes repentantly and had the grace to blush, leaning back against the tree. "Night exercises," he corrected her quietly, and she had to smile when he fidgeted a little.

"You should have one," she agreed pleasantly, meaning it; there was no use going back to reading so she may as well help him plan. Sure, she was the slightest bit disappointed that their afternoon had come to such an end, but then it may have been silly to think they could escape the war completely to begin with. "The replacements ought to know how badly light sources can mess with their vision."

Mirroring her smile and undeniably relieved she wasn't annoyed with him, he made a thoughtful little noise before remembering something he had overheard the men talking about. "Rumor has it you've already been giving artillery 101 to some of them."

Eleanor laughed, recalling the wide-eyed rookies she had encountered and tutored only a week or so ago. "Yeah," she nodded, "It seemed like a safe way of introducing them to my less-than-ordinary job description."

"No getting chased by a sniper this time?"

Leaning across, she pressed her lips to his briefly. There was no way to guarantee such a thing, of course, but not getting chased down by a hidden shooter was clearly preferable to the alternative. "Not if I can help it."

"Good," he said softly, reaching up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, "I'm glad you decided to stay."

She smiled and kissed him again. "So am I."

* * *

That evening, the dance for second battalion that Eleanor and her girls had been preparing for a while was finally set to take place. The main hall of Saint Michael's School had been done up to serve as a venue for the night, covered from top to bottom in bunting and makeshift decorations, a temporary bar put in place for the local pub owners to serve their finest brews from and signs stuck on the dormitory doors reminding overeager GIs that they were strictly off limits. Dick Winters, sitting with the other officers, surreptitiously watched Eleanor make her way around the room and talk to the men like any good hostess would. She seemed happy, pleased to be amongst friends, and while shadows continued to haunt her - as they did everyone these days - she was so very far from the detached, hollow woman he had first met it made his heart swell with affection and something akin to pride. Not for the first time he marveled at her way with the men, how she adapted her demeanor to suit each individual; she laughed at Hoobler and Sisk's jokes, shared a drink with Malarkey and Perconte, discussed the merits of Keats with Webster. It wasn't hard to see how such a talent would have served her well as an undercover agent, yet he was glad that she would no longer have to use it to those purposes - for all of their sakes. As much as he admired her prowess, having her so near to the front and doing all the things a woman traditionally shouldn't was hard enough to accept as it was; he did not think he could stomach the idea of her out there again, on her own, more than ever at risk of getting caught. Not anymore.

More importantly than that, perhaps, the years of warfare had already taken a heavy toll her. There were lines on her face that should not have been present on one so young, a darkness that would linger in her eyes, an occasional tremor of her hands that she was far too skilled at hiding but could never wholly get rid of. Leaving the stressful life of an operative behind was a kindness; remaining with the regiment even more so. As valuable as she was to the division and no matter how much they might have all come to depend on her, Winters knew the benefits were mutual. The friendships she had formed amongst the 101st had unquestionably sustained and supported her, breathed new life into a soul that had previously been all but withered; he shuddered to think what would have happened to her had she not come to Aldbourne all those months ago or, since then, decided to stay. Enthralled, he smiled as she raised her glass in a toast - no doubt a tribute to Patton and his third army - and passed another to Shifty Powers, touching them together. It was becoming hard to remember what life had been like before she and her team had come along.

Standing with McClung and Shifty, Eleanor felt someone's gaze on her and looked over her shoulder to see Dick smiling at her from afar. She held his eyes for a second, half-playful, half-tender, only torn away when Shifty shyly asked her to dance. Given his upbringing the soft-spoken sergeant didn't know a great many of the popular dances but - with the help of Eleanor and a few of his fellow soldiers - was learning steadily, enthusiasm making up for what he lacked in experience. They galloped around the room merrily, sidestepping preoccupied couples and greeting friends until the music stopped and changed into _Sing Sing Sing. _Perking up at the sound of the opening notes, Eleanor tried her best to convince Shifty to stay and jitterbug only to be disappointed when he declined with a faint blush of his cheeks.

"I don't reckon it's for me, ma'am," he said apologetically, looking around the dance floor, "Maybe one of the other fellas can help you out."

She let him go with a smile and a squeeze of his shoulder, barely having had the chance to seek out a new partner when Babe Heffron appeared in front of her and, grinning somewhat goofily, held out his hand to her. "Wanna dance, captain?"

"Sure," she agreed, not seeing any harm in it. She'd grown fond of the kid; he was entertaining company and agreeable enough when his temper didn't get the best of him, and she supposed she owed him a dance after he'd given her a bunch of handpicked flowers the other day. Obviously, she hadn't asked whose garden they had originated from at the time.

What she hadn't expected was just how _good_ of a dancer he was, perhaps even more so than Pat Christenson. Within seconds of having taking his offered hand, he'd spun her out and wheeled her back in, turning her so rapidly under his arm that her skirt flared up into a full circle and had half the room suddenly - inexplicably - paying attention. He effortlessly curved her around his chest, legs in the air, before moving to twist her round his back and putting her back down onto her feet. They clapped along to the rhythm for a moment, feet shuffling, grinning like idiots as the crowd whistled around them, and Eleanor threw back her head in laughter as she heard Dukeman holler at Christenson.

"Hey, Chris, looks like you've got competition, buddy!"

"Don't worry, Pat," she called out, throwing up a hip and whirling back towards Heffron, letting him drag her underneath his legs and emerging with a twirl on the other side so she was face to face with her usual partner, "You're still my best boy."

Patting his cheek teasingly to the amused shouts of the men, she let Babe spin her back into the last bit of the dance, narrowly avoiding the leap frog over his head he seemed to be steering her towards - that particular move might just be a little too much as far as common decency went - and going for a final flick and dip instead. Taking a waggish bow for her cheering friends, she was oblivious to Heffron ogling her unreservedly until he wrapped an arm around her waist and eagerly offered to buy her a beer.

"Eh, Ellie!" Guarnere cut in out of the blue, "I think Buck could do with some help." Following his gaze, she spotted Compton talking to Nixon near the bar; the former looked vaguely annoyed, the latter wholly too pleased with himself. _Oh dear. Lew is feeling superior. Best go check it out..._

"I think you're right," she told Bill with a smile, pressing a hand against her flushed face, "Sorry, Babe. I'll have to take you up on the offer some other time." Heading towards the bar, she did not notice Bill taking his protege aside, nor the expression of disappointment that crossed the young replacement's face soon after. She arrived at Buck's side just as Nixon was leaving, leaning against the counter and regarding the square-jawed lieutenant in silence as she waited for him to speak.

"He really doesn't like me, does he?" he said at length, wincing as he gulped down a swig of his drink. Eleanor raised her eyebrows.

"Who, Nix?" she asked, not quite sure what their recent conversation had been about but pretty certain she knew the manner in which it had been conducted, "What makes you say that?"

"He just pulled rank on me and told me to write a full report on what happened this morning."

"Ah," she nodded, fighting a smile. Word around town had it that some of the original troopers had taken it upon themselves to steal the replacements' clothes while they were showering; it had been a spectacularly juvenile hazing stunt, but one she doubted Buck was in any way involved in. It was true that there were _also_ rumors about him helping Guarnere smuggle two girls in to the NCO billet after lights out - he could be a sneaky bastard when he needed to be - but endorsing something so brazenly immature seemed out of character for him. While she fully understood the need for reprimands, she knew that Dick had long since taken it upon himself to sort out the mess and it was hardly Compton's responsibility. As much as she loved Lew, this was very obviously a case of him goading the fair-haired officer. "He did, did he?"

Buck scowled. "Yes."

She shook her head ruefully. _Eleanor Fairfax, nurse and intelligence officer by day, PR specialist and counselor by night. _"I don't think he dislikes you, as such," she mollified, "But you're a jock, the star football player. He's never gotten along with those. Blame it on childhood trauma."

"You're saying I shouldn't take it personally."

"Exactly!" she beamed, knowing she had achieved her objective when he came to the conclusion she had wanted him to without her actually saying it outright, "Also, his talent for practical jokes is limited to none. This is the best he'll ever come up with. You should pity the poor bastard." Regardless, she made a mental note to smack Lew around the head when she saw him next. _Silly old boy._

"Speaking of practical jokes..."

Both officers turned around at the sound of Skip Muck's voice, greeted by a pair of mischievous eyes and an up to no good smile. Eleanor had no doubt that Muck himself was responsible for a few of the more illustrious stunts and gossip around the company.

"Sorry to steal her away from you, LT," he said to Buck, taking Eleanor by the arm, "But we have a plot to hatch."

"Don't even pretend you're sorry, Skip," Compton grinned, winking, "Off you go, but do me a favor and don't stir up too much trouble."

"Yessir."

Eleanor chuckled, shooting her friend a mockingly ominous look. "Can I just say that as an officer and a lady, I resent your assumption that I'd do anything of the sort?" she teased, dragging Muck along towards the record player, "Let's go, Skippy."

Though Luz was the clown of the company, Skip was the irrefutable heart: he got along with just about everyone and was forever cheering people up. Both he and Eleanor had noticed that Doc Roe had become quieter and even more withdrawn than he had previously been after their return from Normandy and raising his spirits was therefore something they deemed to be a noble cause; the record Philip had sent her from Louisiana might just prove a useful tool in doing so. The plan was as simple as it was ingenious, though far from failsafe. Eleanor would go up to Roe and ask him to dance as she so often had, but hopefully the added stimulant of his native music would be enough to make for a different outcome. Muck was to remain at the gramophone - ready and waiting to put on the music at her signal - as she pinpointed the medic's location and ambled over to him.

"Hiya, Gene," she greeted him amiably, smiling as he hastily got up from his seat. _Ever the gentleman. _"You enjoying yourself?"

"Yes ma'am," he answered, "You and the girls did a wonderful job."

"Thank you," she said, casting a glance around the room and realizing most of the dancers had gone now that there was a break in the music. Unfortunately, that might end up working against them if she didn't move quickly. "Say, you wouldn't happen to dance, would you?"

The medic shook his head, a small smile quirking at his lips. "Two left feet, ma'am."

"See, I don't believe that," she appraised, tilting her head, "I've seen you run." She held out her hand to him. "Come on. Give it a try."

He flushed scarlet, eyes widening with a flash of panic before he managed to conceal it. "Cap'n, really, I can't-"

"Sure you can." She gestured for Skip to do his part, smirking when the music came on and the room fell silent in surprise. This was hardly the swing they were used to.

_Oh parlez-nous __à boire, non pas de marriage..._

Roe's eyes were still wide but with shock rather than trepidation. Eleanor clapped him on the back with a smile. "I bet you remember this one." His astonished burst of laughter warmed her heart; she wasn't sure if she had ever heard him do anything more than chuckle, and even then sparingly at that. She nudged him in the arm. "Allons danse?"

To her relief and delight, he nodded, eyes warm as he took her hand. "Allons danse."

They fell into the hop-and-skip of the folk dance easily, smiling when the rest of the room finally seemed to catch on and clapped their hands in time with the rhythm. Most weren't quite sure what to make of it, but the song was catchy enough for them to at least remotely appreciate it - and anything that had the doc looking this upbeat had to be a good thing.

Hands full of drinks, George Luz took a second to appreciate the usually solemn medic's enduring smile before he set down the glasses on the table where his friends were seated. "Well lookie here, boys," he remarked, clinking his pitcher against Joe Toye's before taking a gulp of beer, "The doc can dance!"

"What the hell is this music?" Bill Guarnere wanted to know, watching Roe twirl Eleanor as if he'd never done anything else. For someone who barely danced, Gene seemed remarkably capable.

"Cajun," Betty spoke up from across the table, "It's a Louisiana thing."

Luz shook his head in amazement. "Jesus, who would have thought."

"Hey, Edwards," Toye grinned, turning toward his girl, "Since you know so much about it, fancy a spin?"

"Absolutely, sergeant."

* * *

Having succeeded in her undertaking to get Gene to dance, Eleanor soon found herself another goal to fulfill - to sort out matters with Luz once and for all. He had been acting strangely ever since he had gotten back from the hospital and while their interactions weren't as awkwardly forced as they had been initially, they still weren't back to what they had been before, and she honestly wasn't sure why. Seeing him sitting by himself (and that was a rare enough sight in itself) at one of the tables, she joined him without warning, settling herself on one of the chairs and folding her arms.

"So," she began, seeing him startle at her unexpected appearance, "You don't call, you don't write..."

The feeble smile he gave her was a poor substitute for his usual grins. "Honestly, I don't know why you put up with me."

"That's the thing. I've barely had to," she said, tilting her head in an attempt to catch his gaze when he lowered his head, chastened. "You've been avoiding me."

"Guess I have, huh?" he sighed, "I'm sorry, Ellie. I don't know why I did."

"I think you do," she counteracted, gently, remembering the disturbed look in his eyes many weeks ago in Normandy, "You wanna talk about it?"

"I-" he broke off, shaking his head with a grimace, "Look, in France, I thought we were dead for sure. I never expected you to pull a gun and wipe out half a dozen Krauts without batting an eye."

She couldn't help but bristle a little at that. Given that she had been one of the few people carrying a weapon a lot more harm could have been done had she decided _not_ to shoot. She knew that it was hard for many of her friends to reconcile the gun-toting, bullet-dodging operative with the nurse they thought they knew, but the rest of the men - including those who had been on that ill-fated transport - seemed to have adapted to the idea well enough, at least outwardly.

"I was just trying to survive."

"Yeah, but you shouldn't have to!" he protested, moving back in his seat in frustration, "You shouldn't be anywhere near any of this shit. You deserve a family, a house- hell, you deserve a palace."

_I'll marry a duke, mama, just you wait and see, _her sixteen year old self proclaimed in a memory, and she felt suddenly wistful. Mansions had been traded for barracks, silk for rayon, tiaras for helmets; how had it come to this? Remnants of her past still remained, jewels locked away in a London bank, heirlooms gathering dust in a house no longer used, but what use would they be to her when - _if_ - this damned war would ever end?

"You shouldn't _be_ here, Elle," Luz went on, "What if we can't protect you? What if you'd died?"

But then she knew exactly what had brought her to this point, why she was spending time with builders and miners and factory workers rather than bankers and doctors and unemployed aristocracy. She smiled sadly. "Luz, I've been in this war longer than any of you."

"Yeah, but-"

"My point is, I don't need looking after. Christ, I almost parachuted into France right along with you a few days ago," she asserted, running an exasperated hand through her hair, "If that's what it takes for me to serve and do my bit in all of this, then that's precisely what I'll do."

"You don't have to jump out of planes to earn our respect, sweetheart," he said quietly and with unsettling insight, "You already had it way before we ever went to Normandy."

With sudden clarity, she realized that he was right. She had worked so hard for so long to gain deference and esteem - to prove that she wasn't just a society darling with decent connections - that it had become hard for her to appreciate what she'd already achieved. Maybe she expected too much. Maybe she should be content with what she had; she had done her bit and then some, had an entire regiment's worth of men who appreciated her - good, honest men who were often far better people than any of the hotshots she had previously interacted with.

Looking up, she saw Dick talking to Roe and Spina and found herself thinking of Peter. For the first time in a long while it didn't hurt to do so. Yes, there were things from her former life that she would miss, and no, she couldn't in her wildest dreams have imagined ending up where she had, but that was all right. There were things she may have lost along the way but she had gained so much in return; she could finally stop running. She could stop pushing herself so hard, and _that_ was a revelation that had her head spinning with sheer contentment.

"Now I know you probably won't back down until the brass tells you to," Luz was saying, and she had to smile at that. _Just because I don't have to show my mettle anymore doesn't mean I'll go back to being a good little nurse. _"But try to be careful at least, okay? You scared the crap out of me."

"I know," she nodded, putting her hand over his where it rested on the table, "I'm sorry."

He squeezed her fingers with a smile, far more genuine this time, "So am I for being a jackass," he said, "How about I buy you a drink?"

Eyes wandering over the various glasses spread out in front of her, she wrinkled her nose dubiously. "Haven't you had enough already?"

"Hey, those ain't all mine, doll!" he laughed, throwing up his arms in defense, "Who'd you take me for, Captain Nixon? C'mon, last chance."

She pushed her chair back and took his arm. "All right, but you'd better not penny me."

"Say what?"

* * *

It was nearing curfew when the festivities finally quieted down, most of the men either withdrawing to their barracks or settling down around the all but empty dance floor for a last drink. There were only a few couples left when Eleanor pulled Dick along for a slow dance, taking his hand and nestling into his embrace as much as she dared in public. From the sidelines, Easy Company watched their CO, noticing the soft smile and not-quite-inconspicuous hand he ran down her back as they swayed to the music. The blossoming relationship between the two officers was perhaps the worst kept secret of the entire regiment - if not the division.

Guarnere dragged his fellow Philadelphian over by the arm, one of the local Red Cross girls balanced precariously on his knee. "Hey, Heffron."

"Yeah, sarge?"

"Remember when I told ya to lay off Ellie Fairfax?"

Babe nodded, Bill's explicit warning not to pursue his interest in the pretty nurse who had been so quick to accept him and kind to him when he needed it the most still ringing in his ears. "Sure."

"Good," Guarnere said firmly, pointing towards the center of the hall where she was dancing with Winters, "Now look over there. _That_'s why."

Heffron's eyebrows shot up in surprise, his mouth working soundlessly for a moment before he found the words he was looking for. "Huh," he said dumbly, frowning, "She's Winters' gal?"

"She's Winters' something, all right," Talbert said, the only answer he could be a hundred percent certain of. The original company knew better than to question what was going on with the duo; though it was common enough knowledge that they were in some way involved, no one was quite certain to what extent. They were endlessly proper, the two of them, and secretive to boot.

"And how does the captain feel about that?"

"Which one?" Penkala asked, wondering which one Heffron had meant, "Oh, her?" Heffron nodded.

"Jesus, kid, we're looking at the same two people here, right?" Toye grumbled, waving vaguely towards the dance floor. Though they were doing their best to make it appear as a casual, friendly dance, it wasn't too hard to see it was far more than that. Malarkey sighed longingly.

"I'd give anything for a dame to look at me like that."

Muck promptly poked him in the arm. "In your dreams, buddy."

"Well, I think it's romantic," Shifty opined, having held his peace until then. Like most of the others he was very fond of Eleanor and respected Winters an awful lot; to see them together like this, so blatantly besotted, was more than a little endearing. He was just the only one to say it out loud.

"Ain't that right, Shift?" Liebgott smirked, downing his drink. Gordon seemed pensive.

"Song's wrong, though."

"Huh?" was the general response, and Smokey was quick to elaborate.

"Yeah. Shouldn't it be 'the girl in khaki'?" he suggested, referring to the song's title. Johnny Martin shot him an incredulous look.

"And what, the boy in lace?" Laughter erupted around the group at the thought of their commanding officer in any form of needlepoint and Gordon dismissed the idea with a grin. More shook his head.

"I'm just wonderin' when he'll pluck up the courage to make a move."

"Or when she will," Ramirez added, scooting over to make room for Luz.

"Hey George, when'd you reckon the captains'll get their act together?" Grant wondered aloud, raising the glass that was passed to him in thanks.

"Those two?" the radioman said, snorting, "I wouldn't hold your breath. It's gonna be a while, the sorry bastards."

Lipton, ever the voice of reason, was anxious to still the gossip. "So long as they're both happy, it's none of our concern." The men fell silent for a moment, contemplating their first sergeant's assertion and watching as Eleanor raised her eyes to Winters', laughing softly when he said something they weren't able to hear before resting her head on his shoulder again. Bull Randleman smiled.

"I think they're gon' be just fine."

* * *

"Colonel Sink, sir? You wanted to see me?"

Poking her head around the door of the regimental CO's office, Eleanor's curious blue eyes stood more than ever courtesy of the tan she had accumulated during long hours outdoors. Although there had been another scheduled (and subsequently canceled) jump and training continued, their time in Aldbourne thus far really _had_ felt like a vacation of sorts. Now, summoned to headquarters by Sink, Eleanor had a sneaking feeling their break might at last be over.

"Ah, Eleanor," Sink greeted, motioning her in, "Come in. You remember General Taylor?"

_Odd question. _While she hadn't seen much of the general since the regimental memorial service a couple of weeks ago and hadn't spoken to him directly for far longer than that, it was hard to forget the perpetually jaunty officer. _What's he doing here, though? _She snapped to dutifully. "Sir!"

The older man returned her salute with a smile and shook her hand. "How the hell are you, captain?"

"Well, sir," she said, sitting down when requested to. The general didn't just come down to call on his regiments on a daily basis. Clearly, something was up, and that something might just be a big deal. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"She's a sharp one, this girl of ours, isn't she?" Taylor chuckled and she struggled to keep herself from cringing. Sink, meanwhile, smiled pleasantly.

"Yes sir."

Seeing that neither of his junior officers were much up for small talk, Taylor got down to business. "Seems Field Marshal Montgomery's convinced Ike to launch an airborne assault on occupied Holland," he said, scrutinizing their reactions. Eleanor nodded slowly.

"I'm guessing this has something to do with the V-2 rockets being launched at London recently?"

Taylor smiled grimly. "Full marks, captain," he praised, handing her a dossier filled to the brim with briefings and maps. Taking the folder from him, she scanned its contents quickly, the outline of the mission slowly becoming clear to her. "It's to be a two-pronged concentrated thrust northward with limited priority of supply," the general commented, "Code name is 'Market-Garden'."

"Ambitious," she observed, letting out a low whistle. There had been speculation on a more northern operation for a while now but the plans she had been given were grand, formidable even. Sink raised a bushy eyebrow.

"Necessary."

Eleanor did not doubt it. From what she understood, the rockets that were still occasionally being tossed at London originated from somewhere on the Dutch west coast. Neutralizing those launch areas had to be a pretty high priority for the Brits, but the more she read, the more doubts were beginning to gnaw at her. "What's the intelligence situation like, sir?"

"Your buddies over at Bletchley Park have decoded a string of intercepted ULTRA messages," Taylor explained, "It seems that in their attempt to stop Overlord, the Germans have allowed the Dutch front to weaken."

"Are we sure about that, sir?" she asked, biting her lip. She was all too familiar with her former employers' troubles in the north; her friend Leo Marks had been right in the middle of the debacle, his warnings having gone largely unheeded despite the situation growing more dire with every passing day.

"Excuse me?" Taylor said, sounding skeptical, and she closed the file she'd been given and cut to the chase.

"Intel from Holland has been notoriously unreliable, sir. The SOE's networks there have been infiltrated before and from what I can tell, there's next to no Allied presence currently on site." Tapping the folder in her lap, she frowned up at her boss. "We're being dropped _before_ the reconnaissance teams, sir, if they even exist at all."

"There are Jedburgh teams being deployed along with the main assault force," Taylor reasoned, crossing his arms, "Four men per division plus one headquarters- they'll be liaising with the local resistance."

_That's bloody late. Surely the whole point of the Jedburghs was to go in before the main assaults? _"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Granted."

"Why wasn't I informed of this before?"

The two men exchanged wary looks. "I tried to convince command to give you a position on the main Jedburgh team, or at least one of the sub-missions," Taylor said hesitantly, "With your kind of experience..."

_Well, it isn't local experience, but I still should have been told- and what he's saying doesn't explain why I wasn't_. "Yes, sir. Why didn't they?"

"Women can't command men in the field. It's as simple as that."

Eleanor's jaw clenched involuntarily. "Sir, I've commanded men before. I'm an officer-"

"We know, Eleanor," Sink soothed, familiar with her annoyance, "But you're just an army nurse when push comes to shove. It also seems Colonel Donovan isn't thrilled about Omar Bradley pinning that DSC on you in front of the entire 506h. He doesn't want to risk further exposure."

"So in essence," Eleanor surmised, "I'm being benched because I'm a woman who did her job well." The resounding silence that followed was all the answer she needed and she sighed deeply, fighting down her anger. There was being content with what she had and then there was essentially being demoted because she wasn't a man, and the latter certainly rubbed her the wrong way. _For God's sake, let me do my job. I've worked hard enough for it. _

"Where does that leave me, sir?"

The general's expression was positively devious. "Oh, I'd imagine your job will remain much the same," he said nonchalantly, "Though perhaps with the added bonus of liaising with the Jedburgh mission."

Which really was his way of saying he wasn't too happy with the situation either and didn't trust these new men worth a dime. Eleanor smiled faintly. "Yes, sir. What about my team?"

"They'll be flown to France without delay to join the Red Ball Express in their journey north."

Her smile abruptly faded. "The _supply_ convoys, sir?" she asked, incredulous, "They'll be sitting ducks!" Having blown up most of the railways, the Allied forces had been forced to create a supply route using trucks and other vehicles; to say they made for an easy target was an understatement. Eleanor shook her head. Jump training for her team had yet to be completed and the weapons issue had still not been resolved, but surely it presented the better option in spite of all that. "They only have two more test jumps to complete- they're scheduled for tomorrow-"

"And I have every intention of letting them complete them, wings or no wings," Taylor interrupted her, "But General Eisenhower doesn't want them doing combat jumps. It's too dangerous."

"Too _dangerous_?" Eleanor exclaimed, well and truly vexed now - they had been scheduled to jump twice over, for crying out loud! "Sir, diverting the majority of the Allied advance based on untrustworthy intel is-"

"Enough, Captain Fairfax," Sink reprimanded her sternly, and she simmered down in an instant, "There's risk involved in any operation. You know that."

_True. Overlord wasn't without its risks either, but then I got to say my piece on that at least... _"Sir, I have absolute confidence in your leadership," she said solemnly, meeting Sink's astute eyes, "There's no doubt about that."

Sink nodded, but it was Taylor who spoke. "Good, then get your unit ready," he ordered, taking back the dossier, "We're headed to Upottery in three days."

She knew a dismissal when she heard one and got up to salute. "Yes sir."

"Oh, and Captain?"

Halfway out the door already, she turned back at the call. _Should've known. Always with the darn afterthoughts. _"Sir?"

"Not a word of this to the men. They'll be told in due time."

A strained smile was all he received in return. "Yes sir."

* * *

**A thousand apologies for taking longer than usual in getting this up - between essays, exams and my dissertation it's been a crazy few weeks. On the upside, I've managed to plan most of the Holland chapters and have already started writing the first. In other words... stay tuned :)**

**Thank you as always for your kind words and don't forget to review!**


	25. Fools Rush In

**Disclaimer: this story is based chiefly on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.**

* * *

Keeping secrets was an operative's stock of trade. Over the years, Eleanor had kept more than a few herself, some more important than others and some vital to Allied intelligence. It had scared her sometimes how easily she could lie and dissemble. Nowadays, a year after her arrival in Aldbourne and one campaign with the Americans later, she found that she had some considerable trouble with it, particularly where her friends of the 506th were concerned. While it wasn't as though she had always been entirely truthful with them - none of them had initially known her true purpose within the division and even now few of the men knew of her British origins - she didn't like lying to them. It didn't feel right. Even relatively minor lies, like the order not to tell any of them about the impending mission to Holland, weighed heavily upon her conscience. They deserved to know. She _wanted_ to tell them.

Spending an entire evening in the pub with them had therefore not been easy. She had enjoyed the company, of course, and had been amused by Luz and Compton conning an unsuspecting Toye and Heffron out of their cigarettes over a game of darts, but the knowledge of what lay ahead - of the prospect of a potentially disastrous operation - had left her subdued. It didn't help that Johnny Martin had suspected she knew more than she was letting on and had been determined to glare at her throughout the night. By the time Lipton had made the announcement, she had been ready to punch a wall out of sheer frustration. _Can't tell them. Can't do what I was trained to do. Can't stop this mess from happening. _She had gone for a midnight run around town instead. _Stupid rules. _

The next morning her unit had been briefed along with Easy Company, sitting among the boys while she had stood with the officers and listened to Operation Market-Garden being explicated. _Berlin by Christmas_, Lew had said optimistically. Eleanor wondered how many times the promise of reaching a certain goal by yuletide had been made and subsequently broken in times of war. She knew the boys going to Dunkirk had been told that they'd be home in time for the holidays, much like their ancestors in the Great War had been; no doubt their enemies were assured of similar things before going to battle. At the same time, she had yet to hear of a single one of those guarantees actually coming true. They never worked out. Disappointment was almost inevitable. _Berlin by Christmas... fat chance of that._

Signaling her team to stay put once the main briefing was over and the men filed out of the tent, she scanned the map-covered boards and rapped her knuckles against one of them pensively. _Eindhoven. A couple of bridges. Sounds deceptively easy. _Perhaps it would be, but so much relied on everything - down to the tiniest of details - going exactly right that she couldn't help but worry. Then, of course, there was the uncertainty of the intelligence, the nagging feeling that Holland wasn't as defenseless as it was made out to be. The only upside she could in all honesty see to this whole operation was that, as the southern most Allied force, the tanks of the British 30th Corps were scheduled to reach them first. It was a small consolation in an undertaking that could still go very wrong within a very short amount of time, but it was something, at least. Eleanor scoffed and shook her head faintly. It felt as though she were clutching at straws.

"So," Betty said, breaking the silence of the now all but empty briefing area and leaning back in her seat, "Holland."

The captain sighed and straddled one of the chairs on the front row, arms folded over the back as she regarded her team. "Yep. Home of tulips, windmills and, right now, a whole lot of Krauts."

Sara frowned, pressing her lips together as she continued to look at the mission plans. "The whole thing sounds a bit risky, if I'm honest."

"I'll trust you to keep your personal feelings to yourself, Sara," Eleanor said sternly, arching an eyebrow at her subordinate. It was bad enough that she had voiced her concerns to the higher ups; it wouldn't do for the ranks to start expressing their dissent too. Not out loud, anyway.

"Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am."

"Do any of us even speak Dutch?" Maria asked, bewildered. It was a reasonable question given that they had in part been selected for their French and German language skills. Deployment to anywhere north of the Belgium border had come as a bit of a surprise to many of the team.

"I sure as hell don't," Eleanor said with a fleeting smile, glad to see it reflected on her friends' faces. "The point is that we're facing the same enemy. Their methods of communication or operation won't have changed."

"We'll be doing the same kind of work we did in France, then?" Nancy queried, fiddling with her garrison cap distractedly.

"More or less," Eleanor said truthfully, "One of the main changes is that the Jedburgh teams will be deployed alongside us this time, so coordination with the locals may be a little different from what we're used to."

Betty nodded slowly, taking it all in. "Are there any agents on the ground at the moment?"

"A few, as far as I'm aware. The Brits got burned pretty badly in the low countries and the OSS has been running their mission from London up until now." The operative grimaced. "Command, in all of their wisdom, hasn't seen fit to inform me if there'll be any change in that situation."

"Personal feelings, ma'am," Evelyn teased gently, smiling.

"Careful with the cheek," Eleanor warned, but there was no heat to it. She glanced at her watch, biting her lip when she realized they were running out of time already. Departure was a whole lot sooner than she'd wanted. "You're flying out to liberated France in a couple of hours and will catch the Red Ball from there," she concluded, getting up amongst murmurs of dismay.

"We're hitching a ride with the supply convoys?" Anne declared incredulously, "Christ, was there any point in putting us through jump training at all?"

"GI Jane," Judy scoffed, rolling her eyes, "Right_._"

"But what about you, captain?" Margaret asked, catching on to the fact that their CO had said _you_ rather than _we_, "You're not coming with us?"

"No," Eleanor responded wearily, shaking her head, "They're dropping me with one of the Jedburgh sub-missions."

"You're taking charge of them?" Gale wanted to know, zipping up her jacket and assuming what must have seemed like the most logical answer.

"No." A rueful quirk of her lips. "I'm afraid I'm not the best-loved person among command right now."

"So they passed you over because they're pissed at you?" Maria guessed, huffing a scornful laugh when Eleanor's silence confirmed it. "Classic."

Unfazed, Eleanor turned to her second to give her the necessary orders. "Bets, you'll take over in my absence again as you did before."

"Yes ma'am."

"Any further questions?"

To her surprise, Grace raised her hand. "Yeah, who do we need to sweet talk to get you in charge?"

"Well, you could try Ike..." Eleanor chuckled, touched by the girls' obvious disdain at how matters had been handled. It was comforting to know that no matter what the higher ups might throw at her, she would at least have the respect of those that really mattered. "In all seriousness, this mission is no more dangerous than Normandy was," she tried to reassure them, doing her best to ignore the fact that she was essentially telling a white lie, "Continue to perform as you have in the past and we'll be all right."

It was bland and hardly enough, but it appeared to do the trick. There was a chorus of "Yes, ma'am" and Eleanor smiled slightly, clapping Sara on the back. _Onwards and upwards..._

"Right then. Let's get you on a plane."

* * *

Two hours later Eleanor - arms folded across her chest and countenance grim - was watching the single C47 take off from the airfield, jaw clenching as the plane ascended smoothly into the afternoon sky. As much as she had tried to keep up a facade of calm assurance around her team, she had been less than successful in her hiding her feelings, another minor annoyance in the growing list of things that were pissing her off that day. The girls weren't stupid; they had known something was off and were none too pleased about going in with the rear echelon, but in the end there was little any of them could have done about it. _Bloody generals. We ought to drop them into Holland and see how they fare._

"I don't like this," she murmured, eyes never wavering from the sky as Dick Winters came to stand besides her and regarded her in silence.

"I'm sure division knows what they're doing," he offered, no doubt hoping to ease her mind and taken aback somewhat when she made a little sound of disgust.

"It's not division I'm worried about," she dismissed with a wave of her hand, turning towards him, "It's Monty and the rest of SHAEF."

To his credit, he only raised his eyebrows the slightest bit at her derisive candor. "It isn't our place to question command, Elle," he remarked simply, trying to reason with her. It had been a while since he had seen her this worked up over something and didn't particularly like the prospect of her starting off the mission on a bad foot. It was disagreeable enough that she was going at all.

"Doesn't mean I have to like it," she protested, exhaling sharply and running a hand through her hair in frustration. "Overlord was six months in the making, Dick. Six _months._ Market Garden's been cobbled together in about as many days, from what I understand." She shook her head. "We have no idea what we're getting ourselves into."

"Of course we do," he argued, "There's maps, intel reports - it's not as if we're going in blind."

"The intel's been wrong before," she said, throwing up her hands and thinking back to Leo Marks' prolonged and failed attempts at trying to warn his employers about the problems with the Dutch data, "The networks were corrupted and the warning signs bloody well ignored- who is to say it'll be any different now? I mean, there's hardly any Allied presence on the ground but we spent eight weeks in Normandy to recon the area and get an accurate picture of the situation on the ground. For crying out loud, we knew the exact route the local school teacher used to walk his dog every morning by the end of it!"

She looked up at Winters as the Dakota disappeared from sight, and darned if there wasn't the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes. "You can't run every operation yourself, Ellie."

"I don't expect to, but this-" she said, indicating the whole undertaking, "I have a bad feeling about this."

"I know you do," he placated, steering her away from the runway, "And I get that you're worried, but it'll be fine. We all do our jobs, we hang tough, and it'll be fine. You'll see."

"Funny," she mused, following him back toward the main encampment.

"What is?"

"That's exactly what I told my girls." _Empty promises and half-hearted vows. _She narrowed her eyes and studied his handsome features, as familiar as her own and endlessly - infinitely - calm. _But then maybe he really believes it._

"You've trained them well," he commended, repeating what he had said to her those many months ago when she had first picked her team, "Any word yet on where you're being dropped?"

"Yeah, close to regimental HQ along with the Jedburgh team." _That_ got a reaction out of him, not so much surprise as concern, but she shrugged it off vaguely. "Hey, don't look at me, it's not like I requested to jump with a massive bullseye on my back."

"I thought you'd said there'd be no more tempting fate," he reminded her tersely, referring to an earlier conversation of theirs, and she had to smile at that.

"Darling, we're in the midst of a war," she said, mouth twisting up wryly, "Just about everything we do is tempting fate. Besides," she added archly, "I'm sure division knows what they're doing."

He ducked his head - should have seen that one coming - and half-smiled. "All is fair in love and war, huh?"

_Love and war. _She did a double take at that, her eyes widening inadvertently. _Love._ His expression was damnably unreadable and carefully blank, leaving her to wonder if he had actually intended the double entendre or had meant nothing by it. Either way, it left her mind reeling. Did she love him? She cared about him, and deeply at that; she knew that much. She was certainly _in_ love with him and the mere thought of losing him terrified her. He was her constant, her ally, the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, but all the experience she'd had when it came to love was her infatuation with Peter Feversham before the war - how could she possibly compare the two, or have any idea on how to classify her feelings? What if she never got the chance to find out?

She halted in her tracks, blinking rapidly, trying to make sense of it all and fight the sudden onslaught of fear, her breath catching when Dick stopped and frowned down at her.

"Promise me you'll be careful," she managed, feeling her hands begin to tremble. It was the only thing she could rationally ask of him; circumstances were too uncertain to expect anything more. He shook his head sadly.

"Ellie, I-"

Grabbing him by the wrist abruptly, she dragged him along and out of sight behind one of the tents, throwing her arms around his neck without a second thought and kissing him deeply. It took him less than an instant to return the gesture, hands running up and down her back, both of them suddenly desperate to have the other near and never let go. They broke apart out of sheer need for air, leaning their foreheads together as they caught their breath.

"Please," Eleanor whispered, hands fisted into his collar as she closed her eyes. _Please be careful. Please don't leave me... _

He kissed her again, briefer this time, his embrace no less tight. "Only if you do the same."

All she could do was nod wordlessly. It might not be love - not yet - but she hoped to God they might get the chance to get to that point one day.

* * *

_Mess kit, canteen, medical bag, binoculars, cyphers, maps, gas mask, gloves, socks, ammunition, K rations... never mind jumping, gravity'll pull me down before I even get on the plane... _

Mentally checking off items from the inventory of stuff she was supposed to be carrying, Eleanor readjusted one of the many straps on her harness and strained to pull herself upright. She hadn't even donned her life jacket or chute yet and already felt ready to keel over, but then such were the joys of parachuting into occupied territory. If you could plausibly attach it to some part of your body and still make it out of the plane, that's what you did. _Wait. I'm forgetting something._ Glancing down at the ground, she spotted her gun and groaned to herself quietly. _Great._

She bent down again carefully, grabbing the holster and fastening the band around her thigh before attaching it to her belt. When she straightened out she was met by the sight of Colonel Sink walking over in the company of four other men she hadn't seen before. Two wore British uniforms, the others a livery she hadn't seen before.

"Captain Fairfax," the colonel greeted, inclining his head toward her politely.

"Sir?" she responded, voice lilting into a question. It was plain that he had some purpose in coming to see her.

Sure enough, the regimental CO gestured at the most senior looking Brit. "This is Major Wilson, commander of the Daniel II sub-mission."

"Indeed," Eleanor said, shaking the major's hand with a respectful smile, "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Captain Fairfax," the major nodded, not bothering to conceal his scrutiny of her, "Your reputation proceeds you."

"So I've been told," she said mildly, sizing him up in return. He wasn't a remarkable man, at least not upon first impression, but he bore himself with the pride and chin-in-the-air poise that many of his fellow officers had. _We'll see if he merits it._

"I'll leave you to get acquainted," Sink proposed, deeming his job done, "Major Wilson."

"Colonel," the Brit acknowledged, waiting until he had left before introducing the rest of his team. "This is Sergeant Mason, my radio operator, and these are Lieutenant Dubois and Sergeant Fokker, our interpreters."

_Ah, so they're escaped Dutch military. Well, I suppose if nothing else we'll have a way of knowing what the hell the locals are saying... _"Gentlemen."

"Now, from what I understand, you are the 101st's intelligence liaison."

Her eyebrows furrowed. Surely that much had been made clear to him? "That would be correct, sir."

"Would you care to elucidate what that entails, exactly?"

"Excuse me, sir?"

"What does it mean?" he clarified, and for a moment she was lost for words. How many possible interpretations of the term could there be? Had he not received any kind of briefing about the regiment and personnel he'd be working with?

"Rather exactly what it says on the tin, sir," she explained, bemused, "My team and I gather and process intelligence and coordinate with various parties - be they resistance fighters or allied soldiers - as required. We also spend part of our time assisting in the running of the regimental aid stations as part of our cover."

"I see," the major said, smiling disparagingly, "Well. I suppose you will have more time for nursing now that my chaps and I are here, eh?"

_Sidelining me already? You can take your time and- _She smiled with difficulty, struggling to keep from saying something wildly insubordinate and inappropriate. "Yes sir. I suppose so."

_Well. This is going to be fun._

* * *

Holland, as it turned out, was much like an oversized, glorified jump field - or at least it was from a paratrooper's perspective. There were broad pastures of grass, fields of plowed earth and swards of heath to welcome the Allied forces and - for the 101st Airborne in any case - far less German resistance coming in then there had been in Normandy. For a daytime jump especially the lack of downed planes was astounding and the ease of the landing undeniably gratifying. Eleanor had spent most of the flight inwardly reciting the various bones of the body (_bones of the hand; carpal bones, proximal row - scaphoid, lunate, triquetral, pisiform; distal row..._) and worrying about her team. The British technical sergeant who was to operate their radio was a cheerful fellow and the two Dutch soldiers were both amiable enough, but Wilson seemed intent on imposing silence throughout their journey to the continent; for whatever reason, he preferred to listen to the whir of the engines over a chance to get to know the members of his team better. Having him raise a magnanimous eyebrow whenever they attempted to talk was a little awkward, to be sure, but in the end Eleanor would take the silence over strained conversation any day.

Still, she was glad to have her feet back on the ground and headed toward familiar company. Jogging over to where Colonel Sink was talking to the battalion commanders and some of his regimental staff, she flipped her canvas field bag onto her back and gestured the rest of the Jedburgh team along, barely waiting for them to catch up. Sink, upon noticing her, looked up from the charts he had been studying and smiled.

"Ah, Captain Fairfax. Glad you could join us."

_You have no idea. _"No more glad than I am to see you, sir."

"Now, as I was saying, we're right where we're supposed to be."

Major Horton snorted. "For once."

"Damn straight," Sink agreed, sounding pleased, "We're about fifteen kilometers north of Eindhoven. We will move through Son here-" he pointed to the town on the map, "Before pushing on to the city."

"Expected resistance, sir?" Colonel Strayer asked, eyeing their surroundings wearily.

"Intelligence still says little to none, but be prepared for the worst. Bob, I want your second battalion heading down the road. First battalion will be in the fields on your west and third in reserve."

"Yes sir," Strayer consented, turning towards Eleanor. "Captain Fairfax, can we expect you to join us?"

She didn't hesitate for a second, knowing a chance when she saw one; Strayer was generally quite apathetic toward her, so for him to ask her along was a rare opportunity - more so than ever given the circumstances. "Certainly, sir."

To her delight, Sink didn't object to her joining up with second battalion and allowed her to escape the team she did not much care for. She did not doubt that she would be forced to work with them later - she couldn't very well disregard them entirely, after all, and they _did_ have the advantage of language over her - but for now at least she would be able to go back to the way things had been before.

But then, in all truth, this really wasn't anything like Normandy. Different country and related matters aside, there was blessedly no need to hide her identity from her own friends this time, even if there would perhaps be more slack to pick up with regards to intelligence. She was also involved with Dick now, something that meant higher levels of both comfort and concern; it seemed that there was an advantage to every drawback, a downside to each benefit.

_The good doesn't always ease the bad, but the bad doesn't necessarily ruin the good either. _Seeing the second battalion staff waiting for their orders, she smiled at them warmly. _Such is life._ "Fellas."

The relief to see her alive and well was almost painfully evident on quite a few of the faces that greeted her. Nixon, closest to her, thumped her over the helmet with a grin and was about to say something when Strayer spoke up.

"Listen up," he called, all of the surrounding officers snapping to immediately, "We're headed down the road towards Son. First battalion will be to our right going through the fields. I want Dog in the lead, then Easy, HQ and Fox. Questions?"

"No sir."

Strayer checked his watch. "All right, we're on the move. Let's go."

Everything erupted into a flurry of activity, grade officers springing into action to get their platoons and companies on the road, shouting orders and urging on the enlisted men. Eleanor stuck around Harry Welsh who, as executive officer for Easy, was assigned to the rear end of the company's column, putting him right in the middle of the battalion's procession. It was a warm day, sunny and all but cloudless, and the first part of the regiment's journey south was decidedly uneventful; after the initial suspense of the landing, it was starting to feel as though the Germans had left already. There was absolutely no sign of them and if the men had any concerns about the almost eerie silence, they didn't show it, chatting away happily as though they were still in England.

They reached Son well on time, the small suburb appearing in the distance as planned. When Dog had almost reached the first few houses, a window was thrown open in a sudden move that had everyone on high alert. Hundreds of men lowered themselves to the ground in an instant, weapons trained on the town as officers grabbed their binoculars to get a better look. Eleanor, crouched next to Welsh, saw a woman lean cautiously out of the window sill and gaze around, her eyes widening in shock as she noticed the American soldiers. She disappeared back inside but was back within seconds, a large orange cloth in her hands that she proceeded to tie around the frame. _The national color. That's got to be a good sign._

"Civilians," she told Harry with mild bemusement, lowering her binoculars right when the woman began to wave at them enthusiastically. Maybe the intel had been right after all. "_Celebrating_ civilians."

"Yeah," he agreed, as amazed as she was, already getting back up to get his men into formation, "Hold your fire! Prepare to move out!"

While they prepared to continue on into town, the previously quiet suburb came alive with festivities. The townspeople were streaming out of their houses, curiosity changing into elation as the word was passed around that the Allied forces had arrived at last. Flags and other patriotic items were uncovered and taken out of hiding after years of repression; bunting and music seemed to materialize out of nowhere. By the time Easy reached the village, the cobbled street was lined with several rows worth of overjoyed locals, all of them eager to greet and thank their perceived liberators.

"Oh my God," Eleanor breathed in astonishment, utterly awed by the emphatic gratitude displayed by the townspeople. Perhaps she had been around Britain and their renowned stiff upper lips to long, but this was a display she would not soon forget.

"I don't remember this ever happening in France!" Welsh called out, forced to raise his voice to make himself heard over the clamor of cheering and applause. Eleanor shook her head, remembering the sullen faces and hushed, reluctant welcomes of the French.

"That's because it didn't," she yelled back, grinning so broadly it almost hurt her cheeks. Everywhere she turned there seemed to be another person anxious to shake her hand, exclaim their praises or even just touch some part of her, squeezing her arm and patting her back. It was overwhelming. Taking advantage of the column slowing down, an elderly woman grabbed a hold of her and kissed her cheeks fervently.

"Hi-" Eleanor stuttered, laughing in amazement as children ran around her legs to cross the street.

"_He, maar dat is een meisje!" _the old lady declared, weathered hands still on the young captain's face, petting the unexpectedly smooth skin. Murmurs went up among the gathered crowd. A girl in the midst of the liberating troops was perhaps the last thing they expected.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand..." Eleanor said apologetically, gesturing helplessly. Thankfully, a relative of the woman stepped forward and, after looking her up and down with a grin, was kind enough to help her out.

"My grandmother says you're a girl," he said in heavily accented English, "Are there many of you?"

"Err, no other women," Eleanor said, smiling at another resident intent on embracing her, "But there's certainly more men..."

Between the slight language barrier - the Dutch where a whole lot better at English than the French had ever been, but then her knowledge of the local language was abysmal - and her inability to give any details away whatsoever, explaining why there was a single female among a whole battalion worth of men was becoming a bit of a challenge. Not that the townspeople were any less grateful; she was offered fruit and sweets and soon had more red lipstick stains on her cheek than any grown woman reasonably ought to. No matter how enjoyable the celebrations, however, it was becoming exceedingly clear that all of the attention was slowing their advance down significantly. Eleanor for once was glad she didn't have a unit to lead, not at all envying the male officers their jobs of trying to extract their fellow GIs from the appreciative grasp of the locals.

"I think they've figured out you're a dame, Ellie!" Skip Muck hailed her cheerfully, a little boy sat on his shoulders and using his helmet as an impromptu drum while the buoyant sergeant pushed his way through the throng surrounding her.

"No kidding," she chuckled, passing on yet another offer of food. Penkala, inching up besides them, shot his buddy a habitual look of fond amusement.

"It's kinda hard to miss, Skip," he commented, raising the bottle of beer he was holding in a toast before gulping back a decent amount. Eleanor, realizing they really ought to be moving, excused herself and began to search the vicinity for any sign of the officers.

"Hey Captain!" Hoobler hollered as she passed him by, "Do you know the Dutch word for 'thank you'?"

"Not a clue!" she answered honestly, standing on her toes to be able to see him among the crowds. The next best thing she could think of - perhaps a little ironically - was German, based on what she knew of the languages and what the locals' exclamations of gratitude had sounded like phonetically. "Try the German, the two are pretty similar."

Hoobler's face fell. "What's the German word for thank you?"

"'_Danke_'," Webster supplied, much to his colleague's delight. Eleanor continued on her search with a shake of her head and an affectionate smile as Hoobler went around to every Dutch person he could find, grinning like the Cheshire cat and exclaiming "_Danke!_".

She ran into a flustered Lieutenant Peacock trying to get his platoon to move and a slightly more successful Lieutenant Brewer attempting to do the same. Each pointed her in a different direction as far as finding any of the higher ranked officers went, leaving her even more at a loss than she had been before. Preoccupied and in the midst of a pulsating swarm of people, she stumbled and almost fell, caught just in time by a strong arm barring her descend.

"Careful there, ma'am," Bull Randleman grinned, setting her back firmly upon her feet as she blushed inadvertently and adjusted her bag before thanking him.

"I think the priest is handing out cigars," she offered in return, smiling deviously. The brawny man raised his eyebrows.

"You don't say."

"He's down that-a-way," she winked, jerking a thumb over her shoulder toward where the village clergyman was handing out smokes.

"Thanks, Cap!"

Watching Bull set off toward the free supply of cigars, she startled when she felt a hand on her arm, the touch far more familiar and far more tender than the generic friendliness of the locals.

"You're really not helping, you know," Winters said, glancing at her briefly before returning to scope out their surroundings, "This isn't a victory parade."

"Sorry," she said, not quite repentant but rubbing the lipstick off her cheek nonetheless, "It's not often we get to play the conquering heroes."

"What if they tell the Germans you're here?" he asked curtly, his superior height for once failing him in his attempt to find the rest of his junior officers. Eleanor sighed. _Of all the things to be worried about..._

"They'll tell them there's a female medic with the Yanks, if anything."

"A female medic carrying a gun?" he retorted, waving Perconte over from one of the nearby houses. The sergeant had a bouquet of late-blooming flowers in his hand - no doubt given to him only recently - and presented them to Eleanor with a flourish, smirking.

"Flowers, ma'am?"

"Thanks, Frank," she said, taking them from him and admiring them with a smile. For a moment she had the absurd urge to attach a few to the webbing on her helmet, but then sense returned to her and she recalled that she stuck out enough as it was. As much as Winters' concern might annoy her, he did perhaps have a point.

"Tell Sergeant Christenson to get his squads moving," the redhead told Perconte, waiting until he had confirmed his order before facing her again. Something flickered in his eyes for a split second - concern, chagrin, it was so cursory that even she had trouble deciphering it - but then his expression softened and he beckoned her along. "Come on, Elle."

It took some considerable effort to get the companies back into action, but it was eventually achieved with a few strict warnings and commands. When they finally left Son, the people still singing and waving after them, the overall mood was if possible more jubilant than it had been before. The way things were looking this whole operation might just be a piece of cake and then some; their time in Holland thus far had felt more like a homecoming than an invasion.

Yet the further away they moved from the town, the more apprehensive Eleanor became, dread sinking into the pit of her stomach. This was going far too well for them. Dubious though its veracity might have been, intelligence had indicated light resistance at the very minimum; so far, they had encountered none. The Germans wouldn't have just abandoned their neighboring country. It was simply not possible.

They couldn't have been more than a few kilometers outside of Son when they ran into the inevitable resistance. Somewhere further down their intended route, a machine gun opened fire; the Americans scrambled for cover.

"Incoming!"

"Into the ditches, go go go!"

Chaos reigned for all of a moment. Besides the rattle of the machine gun they could now hear the far heavier sounds of an eighty-eight. _Anti-aircraft artillery, _Eleanor thought absentmindedly, ducking into the trench besides Winters and Welsh, _bit of an overkill to use on light infantry... _

"Return fire!" Winters bellowed, regaining control over his company effortlessly, but the German guns continued to roar despite several dozens of smaller weapons opening up on them. Squinting to get a better idea of where the Krauts were hiding out, Eleanor realized most of the men had to have little to no indication of where they were supposed to be aiming - apart from somewhere in the general direction of the enemy position. Snatching up her binoculars, she pushed herself up against the side of the dike, bullets whizzing by her head.

"That's a goddamn eighty-eight," Harry Welsh swore, cursing louder than before when he noticed how exposed Eleanor was in her current position. "Would you get _down_?" he demanded, making a grab for her arm only to have her shake him off.

"Hold on!" she urged, heart thumping in her ears, "I've got eyes on them- straight down the road, MG on our side. The eighty-eight's closer to Dog."

D Company, in the ditch on the other side of the road, seemed to be having no more success in suppressing the enemy fire than Easy was. Her objective achieved, Eleanor slid back down along the grassy slope, breathing out sharply. _Okay. Now what..._

"Harry, tell the mortar squads to return fire," Winters ordered his XO, his own rifle unslung and ready to shoot.

"On it!" the lieutenant responded, dashing off down the line to get to Malarkey and the other mortar teams. Winters grabbed the nearest radioman by the shoulder.

"Luz, get on the radio, see if you can get through to Dog Company," he instructed, finally turning toward Eleanor who was by now digging through her medical bag, knowing full well that her single side arm would make no difference in taking out the enemy guns. "Eleanor-"

"I'm checking for casualties," she told him, nodding resolutely before setting off after Harry and rapidly looking over all of the men as she skidded past them. It seemed they had been lucky; at this side of the road, at least, no wounds had been sustained. She went by so fast the men barely had an opportunity to concern themselves over her being out on the line, but there were firm protests when she threw herself down on to the road and crawled across it.

Ignoring the resounding shouts, she rolled herself into the opposite ditch and looked for the nearest familiar face. "Lieutenant Speirs!" she shouted, recognizing the platoon commander's prowling form. The dark unblinking eyes met her own. "Any casualties?"

"None," he said, forthright as always, "But we could do with a bazooka to take out those guns."

It was then that she noticed the very frustrated sergeant sitting alongside them, fumbling to no avail with a broken down rocket launcher. _Ah. _"I think I may be able to help you there," she suggested, diving back across the lane to return to Easy and ending up much where she had started out - besides Dick Winters.

"Dog's having trouble with their bazooka," she informed him, pressing her head back against the ridge. The captain nodded crisply and Eleanor was suddenly struck by how utterly poised he was, how naturally he led his men. He had always been unfailingly cool-headed and collected, but she had never seen him in action like this before - the closest she had come to it had been at Bloody Gulch, but even then it had only been from a distance. Now, witnessing him in the midst of battle, she was lost for words. He embodied control, the steely glint of his eyes all at once reassuring and formidable, his every movement certain and exuding confidence. It was marvelous to behold.

"Right. Buck!" he called, gaining the second lieutenant's attention, "Get Grant on that eighty-eight."

Blinking, she snapped herself back into focus and took up her binoculars again just in time to see the first bazooka round miss by an inch. "Further left!" she yelled, gratified to see the machine gun being taken out in the meantime. Grant adjusted his aim and shot off another round, resulting in a palpable hit and an effective end to the German attack. Whoops went up among the men as Eleanor wiped a weary hand across her brow, the adrenaline slowly leaving her system.

_Well, thank God for that. _Somehow, though, the heavy feeling in her chest lingered on. This road was the direct route towards what was an important crossing; as excessive as the eighty-eight might have been, she had anticipated stronger hostility. Biting her lip, she rearranged the supplies in her medical bag, fastening the clasps when she saw Lew Nixon approaching. "Hi."

"Hey," he returned, all previous signs of mirth gone, "Casualties?"

"None," she said, stuffing the binoculars back into her jacket and out of sight, "We were lucky, it seems." Unable to shake her apprehension, she looked between Nixon and Winters with a frown. "Anyone else get the feeling that was far too easy?"

"I thought we were only expecting light opposition," Winters observed, hanging his M-1 back over his shoulder.

"Yeah, but that bridge is pretty crucial," Eleanor noted, smiling at Lew when he offered her a hand to pull her out of the ditch, "You'd expect them to put up more of a fight."

The battalion was getting back onto the road and preparing to continue on toward the bridge. Colonel Strayer, coming up from the rear, found his way over to the small group of officers near Easy. "Captain Winters, Captain Nixon," he addressed the two senior men, "I want you to take E Company and move up ahead."

"Yes sir," they said as one, inclining their heads dutifully.

"Captain Fairfax, back towards the rear," Strayer continued; apparently the Easy boys hadn't been the only ones who weren't too happy with having her on the front.

"Sir-" she complained, understanding their unease but hesitant to move to the back - she had actually felt useful in the recent action, something she hadn't expected to happen again after the way she had been benched.

"Back towards the rear, captain," Strayer repeated, slightly more forceful this time, and she balled her hands resignedly.

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Being in the back wasn't too terrible in the end. The woodland area stretching on just before the crossing was pleasantly cool, the pace of the march bearable, and Eleanor was having quite an interesting conversation with one of the HQ officers throughout, discussing military tactics and comparing them to various sports. She was on the verge of deciding that it could have been a lot worse - she could have been stuck with 3rd battalion, which remained in reserve - when the bridge suddenly blew up ahead of them.

Ducking down on instinct, she watched in horror as it exploded into a ball of fire, wood and stone, debris raining down on the men at the front. They couldn't have been more than a couple of dozen meters away from it. _Jesus. Lew and Dick are up there._ She blanched, all color draining from her face, breath catching in her throat.

"Son of a _bitch._"

She bolted off promptly, disregarding the cries of the lieutenant she had been talking to and racing towards the destroyed bridge with all her might. Sidestepping prone privates and hurtling past crouched troopers, she thumped Doc Roe on the arm as she ran past him. "Gene, come on!"

He followed her without question, grabbing supplies from his bag even as he darted after her. "Uh-huh."

Gun fire came from across the river, as of yet less than accurate because of the swirling smoke from the detonation. _Small mercies. _"Stay down, stay down!" someone hollered, but she paid them no heed and hurried towards the men within the blast radius, frantically scanning the bodies between the wreckage, her eyes watering because of all the smoke.

_There._ The captains were getting up gingerly, brushing off soot and wood splinters, and Eleanor felt dizzy when she saw blood on the ground near them. "You two all right?" she demanded, crashing to her knees between them and urgently touching Dick's face when the answer wasn't forthcoming, "_Are you all right?_"

"We're fine," he gasped, as though he couldn't quite believe it himself, "Go!"

Her gaze lingered on him - an instant, an eternity - but then she nodded and continued on. _The blood isn't theirs. They're okay. Focus. _She scampered over to Colonel Sink who, as was his wont, had been right up the front with his men. Luckily, he too seemed unharmed, if mightily pissed off.

"Bob, get your battalion on covering fire," he barked at Strayer, proceeding to grab a random sergeant by the collar and insist he get more of the medics where they were needed, Christ almighty, or so help him, he'd be busted back to private. By the time he spotted Eleanor, he seemed to have regained his composure at least a little.

"They blew the goddamn bridge."

She smiled darkly and nodded. "Seems that way, sir."

"Get Hester up here. We'll need to get to the other side somehow."

"Yes sir." Off she was again, running back past the anxious rows of soldiers as she searched for first battalion and its executive officer. She found her friend surrounded by his men and in the process of keeping them in line.

"Major Hester?"

"Eleanor," he said somberly, "What's going on up there?"

"Seems the Krauts decided pyrotechnics were the best way to greet us," she informed him, catching her breath, "The bridge is just about gone."

"Christ."

"Yeah. The colonel wants your men up front to look for another way across."

"Got it," Hester concurred, "I'll find my CO."

The firefight was quick to quiet down, the last of the German troops withdrawing rapidly now that their job was done. Eleanor was soon tasked with looking after the wounded, mostly patching up shallow lacerations and checking for concussions; it seemed that luck had been on their side once more. She was directing the stretcher bearers when Winters and Nixon caught up with her again.

"Okay, get him to the rear," she told the private holding one end of the frame, patting his shoulder, "Thanks." Seeing her friends approach, she raised her eyebrows at them, hoping to deflect the topic of discussion away from her earlier moment of panic. Nixon rolled his eyes.

"Go ahead and say it."

"Hey, far be it from me to gloat," she said, smiling impishly, "But I did tell you so."

"How are the wounded?" Winters wanted to know, earnest as ever, and Eleanor hummed thoughtfully.

"A few scrapes, bruises and broken bones, but no major damage," she assessed, folding her arms as she looked over at the remnants of the bridge. Some of the men were trying to patch it up by laying doors ripped out of nearby farm houses across the gaps; even if it was to work, they would probably not hold a whole regiment's worth of soldiers. "What's the word on the bridge?"

"The engineers are looking at it, but it'll be a while before we can get across," Nixon grumbled, shaking his head.

"Well, isn't that peachy," the operative sighed, "I'd better go see what Colonel Sink wants me to do."

Ambling over to where Sink had set up his temporary command post, she cringed when the radio operator the colonel was talking to chirped about the 82nd's achievements a little too cheerfully.

"The Graves bridge is completely intact!" the boy concluded his little exultation, seemingly unaware that his CO wasn't the slightest bit in the mood for high spirits.

"That'd be terrific," the colonel began, and Eleanor braced herself for a tirade, "Except the 30th Corps ain't about to reach the goddamn _intact_ Graves bridge until this one gets fixed! Get a message to them now."

The technician's smile faded on the spot. "Yes sir."

"Tell 'em we'll meet them in Eindhoven when they get there," Sink instructed, "They'd better have their Bailey stuff up front."

"Yes sir."

"Be sure to say please," Eleanor added drily as she passed by the lad, knowing first hand how iffy the Brits could be about politeness. The kid swallowed.

"Ma'am."

"Captain," Sink acknowledged her, "What's the casualty status?"

"We're not too badly off, sir. Most of the walking wounded have chosen to remain here. I've sent the rest back towards the rear."

"Good," he approved, glancing at his watched distractedly. They were behind schedule already and it was only getting worse with every passing minute; given how much hinged on every link within the chain working, this was a hold up they could really not afford.

"Sir, I'm sure 30th Corps is making steady progress," Eleanor tried to mollify him, regardless of her own concern, "We'll have this crossing up and running again within no time."

Sink shot her a look. "Why the sudden optimism, Captain?"

"No use crying over spilt milk, sir," she said, smiling a little, "Or burned bridges."

"Sir!" the radio operator called out, seeming even more nervous than he had been before.

"Did you get through to them?"

"Yes, sir," he answered, swallowing, "They're about eight kilometers from Eindhoven." Eleanor felt her jaw drop. That was a _whole_ lot further than they were meant to have been by then. _Must have run into more resistance than expected..._

"Eight _kilometers_?" Sink echoed incredulously, the people directly surrounding him falling quiet abruptly.

"Yes sir," the radio man gulped, "They're stopping for the night soon."

_Oh dear Lord. And here we worried about our troubles... _"Well," Eleanor said, exhaling slowly and trying - but failing - to find any sort of positive side to this latest news, "It wouldn't do for the cavalry arrive on schedule."

"Andy, get me my map," Sink snapped, taking the item from his aide when he came running with it and holding it up against the light impatiently. "All right. There should be a hamlet about a kilometer to our south-east." He refolded the paper and turned to Eleanor. "I want you to scout it out."

"Excuse me, sir?" she asked dumbly, more than a little confused. _One moment they want me to stay the hell back, the next they're asking me to go ahead and patrol. Can't they make up their damn minds?_

"You heard me," Sink said, not missing a beat, "Find your way to the area, establish there are no Kraut troops hiding out, then report back to me."

"Yes sir."

The colonel threw a scathing look at the engineers working on the crossing. "You're probably the only one able to cross the damn bridge without breaking it at this point," he said, "Still, take two of the men with you as an escort-"

_Hold on, is he passing by the Jedburgh team entirely?_ "Sir, are you sure-"

"Are you questioning my orders, Captain Fairfax?"

_Apparently he is._ "No sir, of course not."

"Then what are you waiting for?" he queried, already on the lookout for another of his staff, "And for the love of God, don't engage. Withdraw the moment you spot any enemy movement, am I understood?"

She saluted him smartly. "Consider it done, colonel."

* * *

"Ma'am."

"Yeah."

"It's been hours."

Eleanor sighed, shifting slightly to restore the blood flow to her arms after having been in the same position for too long. "Much though I'd like to turn the Germans' own tactics on them and blitz our way into town, there's only three of us and there _might_ be more of them."

"There hasn't been any movement at all since we got here," one of the privates that had been sent along with her groused, pulling a face. He had been plucked from the reserves of third battalion and, for his part, wasn't too happy with it.

"Lay off, Al," his buddy admonished, far less prone to complaints, "The captain knows what she's doing."

"Look, the bad guys are gone," Al opined, leaning over, "You saw what happened in Son. I say we head in and make nice with the locals."

Turning over and onto her back, Eleanor shot the man an exasperated look. It was true that they had been lying in this ditch for several hours now, observing the town from a distance and in silence, but in her book safe was always better than sorry. If anything, the bridge being blown up had shown that the Germans _were_ present and willing to put up a fight; while she doubted the town was large enough to house a superior force, she didn't want the regiment to walk into a trap either.

"Tell me this, private," she said to the dissident, forming her words slowly and deliberately as if she were talking to a very young child, "If it had been your platoon officer leading this detail and not me, would you be singing the same tune?"

"Err..." the private frowned, "Of course not."

"That's what I thought. Now, Hank-" she turned to the other man, "It is Hank, isn't it?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Great. Hank, I want you to look at my insignia, right here," she requested, tapping the brass on her collar, "What do you see?"

"Two bars, ma'am."

"That's right," she said patiently, "_Two_ bars. Which, if I'm not mistaken, means I actually _outrank_ your platoon officer. You'd do well to remember that." She purposefully left out the fact that no woman was technically allowed to be in charge of any man, hoping to high hell that the private hadn't taken the time to actually read any of the army regulations. Fortunately for her, he hadn't.

"Yeah, yeah," he allowed, grudgingly, sneering when she raised an eyebrow at him. "Yes, _ma'am_."

"Glad we've got that sorted," she muttered, considering their options. "Either of you have eyes on that last farm?"

"No ma'am."

_Drat. We can't just ignore it. _"Okay. Here's the plan. We'll go in and check that farm, see what the locals have to say. Once we've got it confirmed that it's empty, we'll report back to Colonel Sink."

"What if the Krauts _are_ holed up in there, ma'am?" Hank asked, a little uneasily. She smiled grimly.

"We run like hell and hope for the best," she said, seeing no need to sugar coat it. Getting up and wiping the grass off her ODs, she began to climb out of the trench, looking back to see the two men hesitate. "Well, come on, then!" she exclaimed, "You wanted to make nice with the locals, so making nice is what we'll do."

The three of them cautiously edged into the town - if the six farms cluttered together could be called as much - weapons at the ready as they walked along the quiet street. There was a sudden giggle and two muffled voices to their right and all of them jumped at the sound of it, Al wheeling his rifle towards the source.

"Easy!" Eleanor said, holding up her hand to stop her escorts from firing, "Lower your weapons."

"Jesus, Al, they're only kids," Hank laughed, nevertheless holding on to his weapon as Eleanor moved towards the children and tucked her own sidearm back into its holster.

"Oh, fuck you. They just startled me, all right?"

"Hi," the captain called gently, kneeling down to make herself less threatening to the small beings and pulling a bar of chocolate from her pocket, "Do you want some chocolate? Here," she offered, holding it out to them, "It's good."

The eldest boy took it from her hesitantly, unwrapping it with clumsy fingers and taking an experimental bite. His face lit up and he prattled excitedly to the other child, breaking off a bit for him and sharing it eagerly.

"There you go," Eleanor smiled, won over by the boys' glee over something as simple as chocolate, "Can you tell me-" she began, biting her lip, trying to think of a way to get the message across to them, "Where's your mother? _Mutter? Vater?_" That seemed to be understood. "_Vater_? Ah, you get that, don't you?" The oldest was pointing towards one of the nearby buildings, still talking to her with childish excitement. "They're over there?"

"Ma'am, we've got civilians approaching," Hank warned her, "They seem to be unarmed."

_Good timing._ She rose to her feet and waved at the small group hesitantly inching toward them. "Hello. Do you speak English?" No reaction. "_Parlez-vous français, peut-être_?"

One of the men raised his hand timidly. "I speak English."

_Hallelujah... _"Oh, good!"

"With what can I help you?

"We're Americans," she explained, speaking steadily but doing her best not to come across as patronizing. More people were starting to step outside of their houses; Eleanor gestured at Al to check out the last farm before continuing her conversation with the man who spoke English. "We've been sent ahead to find out where the Germans are."

The man, meanwhile, seemed too preoccupied by the fact that she wasn't your average soldier. "They have woman soldiers in your army?"

"Not really," she admitted, getting the feeling that she'd be having this conversation quite regularly in the near future, "I'm a bit of an exception- an _Ausnahme_?" The man nodded in understanding. "Exactly. Are there any Germans left here?"

"We have seen them move past, but that was hours ago. Nothing since."

"You're sure of this?"

"You are here to free us?

_How hard can it be to get them to stick to the topic? _"That's the gist of it, yeah."

"I-I don't know-"

"Right, sorry. Yes, we are here to free you." The man translated what she had said and suddenly it was like she was back in Son all over again, people rushing over to embrace and thank both her and her fellow soldier. "Whoa, okay-"

"It is- very good to see you," the man said sincerely, his hand clasped around her arm, "I promise you the Germans are gone. They really are _gone._"

"So they're not anywhere near?" she clarified, scrutinizing him carefully, "They didn't just order you to tell me they'd left?"

The man shook his head fervently. "We've been waiting a long time for this," he said passionately, "We wouldn't tell a lie."

"All right," Eleanor decided eventually, taking a leap of faith and deeming the sentiment genuine, "Listen, our battalions need a place to stay for the night."

"Oh, you must stay with us here!" the Dutchman thrilled, eyes lighting up. _Wait until the whole regiment appears on your doorstep, buddy, and then see how you feel..._

"I know it's a lot to ask," she said, attempting to convey the absolute mass of men headed their way, "There is rather a lot of us."

"We don't mind," the man assured her, "Anything we can do to help, we will. Anything."

Eleanor smiled, astounded by their hospitality. "That's very kind." She noticed that the trooper she had sent to examine the final farm had returned in one piece. "Rowell?"

"Ma'am."

"You checked the final hurdle?" she asked, keeping her question purposefully vague lest they were about to caught in a snare after all. Thankfully, Al seemed to catch on to what she was saying.

"Yes ma'am. It appears clear."

"No sign of enemy arty?"

"None, ma'am."

It seemed, then, that this little town was as good as it was going to get. No Germans near, friendly locals, half a dozen houses for the officers to stay in, perhaps a few barns for the men- as far as first nights in enemy territory went, it wasn't half bad. "Okay," she breathed, nodding at Al, "Head back to regiment, pass the word on to the colonel. Keep your head down."

"Yes, Captain."

Hank stayed behind, still surrounded by avid locals; the two of them wouldn't stand much of a chance if it came down to any kind of clash, but having him there was better than nothing. The man Eleanor had been talking to was looking at her curiously.

"You're a captain?"

"I am, yes."

"May I ask your name?" he asked, almost shyly, "You never said."

"So sorry," she apologized and offered him her hand, having quite honestly forgotten about introductions, "I'm Eleanor."

"Antonie Joker."

"Anthony?" she repeated, trying out a slightly Anglicized version of the name he had provided, "Yeah?"

"Yes. And this is my wife, Wilhelmina."

_I'm not even going to try and pronounce that._ "Like the queen," she said instead, shaking the woman's hand warmly, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Jonker."

"Do you want to eat something?" the woman asked, her plain face kind.

"Oh, no, I couldn't-" Eleanor objected, knowing the regiment's arrival would probably wreak enough havoc upon the town, but the couple would have none of it.

"Please, we insist," Anthony smiled, "You must be hungry. Our neighbors, they are already getting food for the men."

_They really are that grateful and generous, aren't they_? Yet even the generosity brought up another issue; if matters got too loud before the men even made it to the town, there was always the chance of the Germans noticing something was going on.

"That's great," she said, "But could you please tell them to keep the celebrations down until the rest of the men have arrived?"

"Of course!" Jonker agreed, passing on the instructions quickly. "Are you certain you don't want anything?"

"Maybe later," she gave in, not wanting to be rude, "I need to find a place for my commanding officer first."

"The colonel?" She nodded. The Dutchman grinned. "I think I can help with that."

* * *

It took the regiment several hours to cross the busted bridge and reach the hamlet. As Easy finally found its way in, the sun was beginning to set and a number of the other companies had already occupied the prime locations for the night. Indeed, finding a spot at all was a challenge, given that there were some hundred men in and around the farms, enjoying the local food and lounging about against the haystacks. Winters and Welsh were attempting to obtain a place for first platoon when they came across Eleanor, sitting cross-legged on one of the lawns and absolutely surrounded by children and various toys.

"Took you boys long enough," she commented as they ambled over, looking up at them as she rocked a toddler in her lap. Welsh sniggered, entertained by how Eleanor seemed to have gone from dodging bullets to looking after the local school kids.

"And when did you become the local babysitter?" he asked, dodging an overeager boy enthralled by his bayonet.

"All the women are doling out food to the men," Eleanor elucidated tiredly, "Being the only other female here, taking care of the children _naturally_ falls to me."_ From one of the most wanted spies in the entire ETO to the de facto nanny of the regiment. Lucky me._

Luz, standing by Welsh, grinned rakishly and ruffled one of the boys' hair. "It suits you, ma'am!"

"Oh, shut up," she muttered, standing up and hoisting the toddler she had previously held in her lap up into her arms. Luz seemed positively taken by the playing kids, his grin smoothing out into a warm smile. "Can I?" he asked her, almost eagerly.

"Sure," she allowed, nudging a shy little boy toward him, "Go on, he won't bite." She watched as the sergeant gathered up the boy and tickled him until the kid was giggling, chubby arms wound around the radio man's neck. The sight was altogether adorable, but then it somehow didn't really surprise her that Luz of all people would have such an affinity for children.

"Do you have any idea where we can put first platoon?" Winters asked, still glancing around the houses.

"You can try the area over there, but I think HQ Company has already taken the farm."

"We shoot 'em, they loot 'em," Harry snorted, shaking his head. He shrugged when Dick looked at him questioningly. "It's worth a try."

"Yeah," Winters concurred, turning to the men, "Okay, first platoon, follow Lieutenant Welsh."

"You too, Sergeant Luz," Harry reminded him, waiting until the man had reluctantly set his young friend down and smiled at Eleanor in goodbye.

"See you later, Ellie."

She watched them go for a moment, thoughtful, but soon had her attention drawn back to the children when one of them squeaked in vexation and, even as she turned back towards them, began to tug on another's hair. "Hey!" she intervened, pulling them apart and scowling at them in what she hoped was a stern manner, "Stop that. Play nice." All she received in return was a set of bemused looks. _Of course. They still have no idea what I'm saying._ "Nice," she echoed lamely, passing a toy to each and heaving a sigh, "Please try and behave."

Shifting the boy she was holding further back up her hip, she noticed Winters hadn't left yet and was smiling at her faintly. "You know, this was so much easier when I actually spoke the language," she remarked wearily, cringing when a pint-sized girl tripped over her own feet and promptly fell down onto the grass. Tears seemed imminent and a scene unavoidable. She groaned. _God have mercy._ "Oh, no..."

"It's all right, I've got her," Winters said quietly, and Eleanor watched in amazement as he scooped the child up into his arms and bounced her up and down, murmuring gentle assurances until her lip had stopped wobbling quite so precariously and she became too fascinated by his helmet to even remember why she had been upset. They made an odd pair, the army captain in all of his gear - rifle still slung around his shoulder - and the tiny girl with her pigtails and rosy cheeks, but there was something inherently endearing about it that had Eleanor's heart skipping a beat. Sure, Luz had been charming earlier but this- this was different. She had never really contemplated having children of her own, had always thought herself too young before, and then there had been the war; this world, _her _worldwas surely no place for a child- but suddenly, quite unexpectedly, she found herself considering it. Suddenly, surrounded by soldiers and in the midst of this premature victory celebration, it didn't seem like such a far fetched idea at all.

_Stop it, _she chided herself mentally, _who is to say you'll make it out of here? Even if you do, what makes you think he will choose to stay with you? He deserves better. You know he does. _Yet when her eyes met Dick's, blue locking on blue, she couldn't help but see the familiar glimmer of hope there, a reflection of her own longing for a better future. She had told Anne not too long ago that hope, once rekindled, was surprisingly hard to get rid off, and it seemed she was no exception to that rule herself. While part of her still clamored to withdraw, to retreat before she would once again get hurt by the inevitable, it was all too easy to give in to the warmth and security that being with him provided. The happy ending she had lost faith in was now something she desperately wanted to believe again.

"Captain?"

They both startled, realizing simultaneously that they had been staring at each other, and spun to face the woman that had addressed them. "Yeah?" they chorused, blushing.

The woman - more of a girl herself, really, she couldn't be much older than eighteen - glanced between them with amusement and mild confusion, aware she had intruded on something but unable to quite square it with what little she knew of army officers. She spoke in simple, school girl English, her tuition of which had probably been interrupted by the invasion of the Germans. "I was sent to look after the children," she explained haltingly, gesturing at the youngsters running about, "Mr. Jonker was asking if you wanted to eat."

Eleanor fought the urge to sigh in relief. Fond as she was of children, she'd done enough babysitting for the day and she had yet to decide if the broody feelings that had suddenly reared their head were at all a good thing. "Thank you," she said, lowering the boy in her arms carefully with a final pat of the soft head, "Down you go, kiddo."

Across from her, Winters ran into trouble when his charge clung to his leg persistently even after having been placed back upon her own two feet. She seemed determined not to let him go. "I think she likes you," Eleanor teased, smiling as she snatched back her helmet from one of the other kids. The teen who had been sent to take over shook her head apologetically.

"I'm sorry," she offered, prodding the girl away from her new found friend, "_Kom hier, Liesje_..."

The two captains left to the sound of Liesje's protests, neither missing the fact that other GIs were already headed towards the area they had just set off from. If their replacement had been ordered to mind the children as a ploy to keep her away from lewd American troopers, it was a move that looked like it was about to fail. Eleanor stretched her back, cracking her spine and wincing minutely at the slightest hint of a twitch in the old scar on her side. It was properly getting dark now, the twilight draining away the last warmth of the late summer's day, and she let her mind wander briefly to her girls - likely still in Belgium somewhere - with a faint prayer for their safety.

"Have you eaten yet?" she asked Dick, suddenly aware that he had offered no explanation as to why he was still at her side when by all accounts he ought to be someplace else.

"No," he said, and she nodded in understanding - food probably didn't sound like too bad of an idea to either of them at this point. "Had to get the men settled first."

"And are they settled?"

"For now," he nodded, tilting his head a little to regard her. She quirked an eyebrow at the unspoken question in his eyes, wordlessly urging him to go ahead and ask it.

"Why'd you do it?" he wanted to know, "Look after those kids, I mean."

"Why wouldn't I?" she retorted, smiling in bemusement. He shrugged.

"I'm sure there were other things you could have been doing."

"Maybe," she said thoughtfully, inclining her head briefly at one of the senior officers that walked past, "But these people have been at war for five years and they're _still_ giving us everything they have- food, shelter, you name it. Watching their little ones for a while is the least I can do." She would have thought her answer would have sufficed, but still he continued to look at her; she frowned up at him with persistent confusion.

"What?"

"Nothing," he soothed, his quiet study of her morphing into a smile as he brushed his hand against hers lightly. It was the most affection they could permit themselves out in public like this - something that wasn't easy to bear after the months of leisurely time they had been able to spend in England together - but it would have to do for now; just as hope, no matter how fragile, would need to suffice for the time being. It was all they had and all they could have at the moment.

Feeling the callouses on his fingers as they caressed her own, Eleanor knew it would be enough.

* * *

**Wew, what a beast to write. Hope you've all enjoyed reading it - do make my day and leave a review! :)**


	26. What Is This Thing Called Love

**Disclaimer: this story is based chiefly on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.**

* * *

The first night in Holland Eleanor found herself unable to sleep. Rest evaded her during the long hours after sunset, darting at the edges of her grasp and leaving her to stare up at the decorated ceiling of the box bed she had been graciously allocated by the Joker family. She couldn't quite figure out why she was having such a hard time drifting off; it had been a long day, a stressful day despite a reasonably successful start to the operations, and she logically ought be tired enough not to be having such issues. Yet her mind was jittery and her thoughts troubled. Every time she closed her eyes she was confronted by images of an ambush on the unsuspecting and celebrating civilians, assaulted by concern for her friends and for her team, struck by unease over the already delayed mission and the sheer lack of information on where the enemy might be. She tried to fall back on an old trick she had used as a child - to make up a story, a fairy tale or fable or something equally harmless to help her sink into slumber - only to find that even the once innocent tactic had become tinged by bad memories.

Sighing, she threw off the covers and swung her legs out of the bed. For a brief moment she considered sneaking downstairs to find Dick, to curl up at his side and let him chase the nightmares away, but then she looked down at her PT shorts and mostly bare legs and decided that it would probably not be the wisest of ideas for her to do so. Rubbing a weary hand across her face she set her feet down on the smooth surface of the wooden floor and got up, padding across the small attic room quietly. A sliver of moonlight fell through a gap in the curtains, illuminating the belongings she had carefully placed on the desk and chair in front of the window. As much gear as she was carrying, the vast majority of it was not her own; like the rest of the men, most of her possessions were military issue, utilitarian and purpose-build with few if any embellishing features. It was, like the tan lines that had formed around the edges of her uniform over the summer months in Normandy, a poignant reflection of what her life largely revolved around these days: duty, diligence and the United States Army. She had long since been stripped bare of the wealth of pretty trinkets and jewelry she'd had before the war, and though her little finger would likely always feel odd without the signet ring she'd had been forced to part with when she joined the SOE after having worn it for most of her life, it was something she had come to terms with. War was neither the place for opulence or an extravagance of items tied to one's civilian life. All a person had out here was the man (or woman) next to them; what you did or who you were before made little difference in the end.

Indeed, what little personal items Eleanor had - they could just about fit into the palm of her hand - all had a significance that related to her recent past in some way or the other. There was the little cross that had belonged to one of her Maquis friends back in Paris; the drawings that Pat Christenson had made for her, creased and stained but far from faded; the gun she had carried with her since her training in Scotland, and the silk scarf that had been a Christmas gift from Harry Welsh and Lew Nixon. The one exception was the key to a Kensington apartment she had still not done away with, though the reason why she still hung on to it eluded even herself. There was no going back to that place, to that time, and she was well aware of this; her future, if any, was with Dick and the rest of the men. _Or so you hope..._

She took the key from where it was hidden in the inner pocket of her field jacket, running her finger along the cool metal with a frown. The sheer amount of thought she was giving the past unsettled her somewhat; she had thought herself beyond such things, but then the present and future didn't bear much hope of an alternative either. There would be absolutely no chance of any rest if she were to obsess over their current situation too much, and the future wasn't something she really wanted to consider either - both because her having one was still uncertain to begin with and because it served too much as a beacon of hope, a light at the end of the tunnel. It was far easier to cling to the (perhaps absurd) belief that everything would be all right - that she would be able to live the rest of her life in peace with the man she had fallen for so deeply - than to consider the possibility that such a thing might not happen. _But what if it does?_

The tiny old clock in the corner of the room struck one; she shook her head and blinked. September 18. A new day, and hopefully one in which they would seize their objectives and secure their hold on the Dutch countryside. It was a long way to the west coast from here, that much she knew, but they would have to try if they were to stop any further missiles from being hurtled at London. Suddenly, looking out over the quiet little yard outside the house, she came to a startling discovery. _London. Mid-September._ Her hand clenched around the back of the chair._ Dear God, it's been four years. Four years almost to the day since the Blitz- longer still since Dunkirk._ She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply.

_It feels like so much longer._

* * *

_She exhaled slowly, but her eyes remained closed. The world seemed to fall away around her, her surroundings utterly still, leaving little besides the resounding beat of her own heart and the slow swirl of her private thoughts. For a long while, she merely stayed like that - her mind flitting between the mundane and inanely trivial - until she was starting to become aware of the distant echo of bird song and, gradually, the warmth of the sun on her face. It was strange, given that it had been the depth of night only moments before, but she found that she did not mind it. The slight breeze that ruffled her hair carried the smell of good, tilled earth blended in with the sweet scent of drying hay; wherever she was, it felt familiar. It felt safe. She smiled. It felt like she belonged there._

_Flexing her toes experimentally, she relished in the languid discovery of her surroundings. There was wood of some kind underneath her feet, not unlike a floor; that at least had not changed, yet it struck her as odd that she seemed to be on one when all the rest of her observations suggested she was somewhere outside. Then, unexpectedly, something - someone - ran past her, small and elusive, the pitter-patter of tiny feet reverberating through the planks accompanied by a child's gleeful giggle. Her smile faded, quickly replaced by a confused frown when she opened her eyes and she was forced to raise her hand to shield them from the bright light of a cloudless afternoon. Colors burst across her vision, vivid and strangely intimate, emerald grass edged by the swaying gold of a cornfield underneath a cerulean sky. In the midst of it all a girl darted and skipped among the billowing white linen hanging from an old-fashioned clothesline, apparently oblivious that she was being watched, her auburn curls bouncing merrily as she played._

_Eleanor was soon mesmerized by the pale slip of a girl, intuitively aware that she knew the child and yet unable to place her. She couldn't have been much older than three, maybe four at most, rosy-cheeked with a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheekbones; a pretty thing, all in all, but one she surely had never seen before in her life. Then how..._

_Another person moved past her - larger, more solid, equally intangible - and caused her to startle. She could only see the man's back, tall and slender and well-built, his neatly combed hair a few shades lighter than the girl's. It was obvious that the two of them knew each other, who ever he was; the girl had stopped and stared at the newcomer for a moment, a wide, toothless grin lighting up the babyish face before she disappeared behind the sheets again. The man chuckled warmly and dashed after the child in a lighthearted chase, making a show of never quite catching his young quarry. Eleanor contemplated them, quietly enthralled, as their endearing game of hide and seek continued and their laughter filled the air. It was impossible to look away, her mind still grasping for a name to call out but incapable of finding one._

_It wasn't long before she got her answer, her breath catching when the man snatched up the little girl and spun her into his arms, halting at last and facing their audience. He smiled at Eleanor crookedly, a faint but endlessly fond thing that she would have recognized anywhere, brimming with love and affection and unspoken happiness at seeing her there._

_"Dick," she whispered, heart soaring when he pointed her out to the toddler he was holding and the girl began to wave excitedly, bouncing up and down in his hold._

_"Mama, mama!"_

_It was hard to keep herself steady, overwhelmed as she was by that single word, but then, with a rush of love, she remembered. They were her family. Of course they were. This was Lancaster County, her home, and it was her own veranda she was standing on; just to the left was her little rose garden, and beyond that the orchard and stables. How could she ever have forgotten? Had this not been what she had longed for all along? Smiling broadly, she waved back at the two figures on the front yard and headed down the steps of the porch, sunlight glinting off the wedding band on her finger._

_She had only made it halfway down when she halted and an inexplicable shiver ran down her spine. Something was wrong. Clouds were gathering overhead, blotting out the light as the horizon shifted and changed, bare, spindly trees appearing along a winding blacktop road. The wind picked up without warning. Dread washed over her like a wave when she realized that she had seen this place before and the outcome then had not been a happy one. Her horror only grew when she spotted the dark carriage approaching in the distance._

_"No," she whimpered, panic clawing at her when Dick turned toward the coach - slowly, wonderingly, as if he were merely curious as to what it was - and began to walk away from her. "No!"_

_No matter how many times she cried out to him, he never once looked back, the ragged horse in front of the carriage stamping its feet impatiently as it was drawn to a halt and its driver lured his passengers closer. Eleanor ran across the lawn without a second thought, her legs feeling sluggish as she fought her way past the ominously rippling cloth - now inexplicably stained with garish hues of red - and called for her loved ones in desperation._

_It was too late. They were already getting into the carriage and, in the agonizing second after she stumbled and before she had fallen, her eyes met those of her daughter's as the door closed behind them._

_Their empty shade of sapphire would forever be seared into her mind._

* * *

By the time Eleanor woke up, bolting upright in her bed and promptly banging her head against the beams of the slanted ceiling, the sun was just beginning to rise in the East. Gasping for air, she stumbled out of the alcove and towards the window, yanking the curtains apart and fumbling with the latch. A cool gust of air swept across her clammy face as she yanked the window open and fought to control her breathing. _Calm down. It was just a dream._ She grimaced, leaning her aching forehead against the polished surface of the glass. _For the love of all that is holy, control yourself._

She was no stranger to nightmares, not by any means, but it had been a while since a dream had shaken her so. It was proving harder to square with than usual, the idyllic vision of her future haunting her as much as the shock of its abrupt demise; she had steered clear of ruminating the very subject for good reason. For some time now she had lived by the unspoken assumption that if she were to survive the war and somehow the world would know peace again, she would leave for Pennsylvania with Dick so they might make a life there together. It was a thought that had given her hope, that had sustained her, and while the yearning for it was nothing new the realization of just how desperately she craved for it certainly was. Having grown accustomed to being self-sufficient and reliant, it scared her how much she had come to depend on this one notion - this one person - and how little thought she had given to other potential outcomes. _What if he dies? What if whatever this is between us doesn't work out and he choses to go his own way by the end of it all?_

Shuddering at the mere thought of it, she wrapped her arms around her torso and stared across the deceptively quiet Dutch countryside stretching on in the distance. She knew, pragmatically, that life would go on one way or the other; that as cruel as fate might be, it surely wouldn't take all of her friends away, and that she had endured loss before. Even if he did perish, she'd adjust. She'd adapt.

As for the other matter, well, he wasn't a demonstrative sort of man, and though she had learned to interpret the subtlety of his expressions for the most part, there might still be times when she had missed something. He'd been nothing but good to her; to claim or even think otherwise would be an unfairness. All in all, she'd be fine. Still, she couldn't help but long for that desired outcome- for him. She was so tired of war, had lost so much already; surely a happy ending would be a kindness, a small measure of grace?

_Stop it,_ she chided herself, getting up and drawing back her shoulders resolutely, _you're acting like a love-sick fool. You know he likes you. You know he cares. Even if it's no more than that, you've done well enough on your own for years. This is just the lack of sleep talking._

Running a hand through her hair, she reached for the jug of water on the table and poured its contents into the matching bowl. As she dipped in the soft cloth that had been provided for her, she hummed quietly to herself, determined to lift her own spirits. "Come Josephine, in my flying machine..." she sang under her breath, the first song that came to mind. It was sad, really, that she'd had to resort to singing to herself in a vain attempt to gloss over the dream she didn't care to recall and the questions it had brought along with it, but she had to keep moving forward somehow. "Going up, she goes, up, she goes..."

Scowling disdainfully, she pressed the cloth to her cheek and stopped singing. All the ditty was serving to do was reminding her of her own father and the way he had twirled her around their old colonial home in Louisiana back when she had been very small. It was, if anything, counterproductive. _God, but I'm sentimental today._ Slapping the towel back down into the water, she carried on mechanically with the process of washing and dressing. The day ahead would be a long one.

Barely a quarter of an hour later she was ready and headed out the door of her temporary billet, having declined an offer of breakfast from Mrs. Joker. The morning was of yet hushed and chilly, mist swirling low over the dew-covered ground of the gardens and fields of the hamlet. Kicking against a loose pebble on the street she was headed down, she spotted two familiar figures at one of the outposts on the edge of the village, their weapons at the ready but postures laid back as they watched the bordering pastures. "Morning, fellas," she called out to them, smiling as their heads turned in unison and she lowered herself into their foxhole.

"Heya, Cap," Popeye Wynn greeted her over his shoulder, propped up on his stomach against the front of the trench. He had joined them at Membury only hours before the jump into the low countries, having escaped from the hospital with the help of - of all people - Herbert Sobel. Though he had returned to duty without too much trouble, it was safe to say he was still a little sore. "How's it going?"

"Swell," she answered curtly, not at all in the mood to go into detail or to reveal why on earth she was up this early. She took the opportunity to scan the surrounding area for any possible enemy activity, looking for signs of even the slightest hint of disturbance. There were birds chirping away merrily in all of the nearby bushes, which was always reassuring; they wouldn't have been there had anything upset them. Regardless, she couldn't help but ask. "Any movement?"

"Not a peep, ma'am," Shifty Powers spoke up from where he sat beside her, and she knew that if Shifty had concluded as much, it had to be true. The boy had a keener eyesight and finer instincts than anyone else she'd met. "We're startin' to think the Krauts have fled back across the Rhine already."

If only. "Don't count your chickens before they've hatched," she warned, all too aware that despite its promising start the day before this offensive wasn't over in the slightest. The German counterattack looming on the horizon was more a question of 'when' rather than 'if'.

"You reckon they're out there, Captain?" Popeye asked, sounding hesitant. Eleanor nodded grimly.

"Oh, they are," she said, biting her lip as she took a second glance at the fields encircling the village. She hated this, the waiting, the dawdling. Her fingers were itching for action, her mind restless from the continuous inactivity; she felt as idle as a ship upon a painted ocean, but there was little any of them could do to change the situation. They were hardly in a position to openly challenge their opponents, not with their tanks and artillery delayed and their communication systems largely ineffective. For now, all they _could_ do was stay on guard and hope to God Eindhoven wouldn't be crawling with German infantry.

"I wonder what's taking them so long," she murmured pensively, still a little puzzled as to why the Allied forces had encountered so little resistance thus far. Things simply didn't add up. _Unless of course the Krauts are regrouping and bringing in reserves, in which case we're certainly about to get our asses kicked..._

"Beg pardon, ma'am?"

She shook her head, lips quirking up fleetingly as she turned back to Shifty. "Nothing," she told him, endeared by the questioning, vaguely confused look in his kind eyes. "You boys get some sleep?"

Powers shrugged. "Coupl'a hours, maybe."

"Nah," Popeye chimed in, "Had to have been more."

"Enough, either way," Shifty assured her, knowing it was what she needed to hear, "We're good, Captain."

"One hundred percent ready to liberate this place, aren't we, Shift?" Wynn grinned, thumping his friend on the knee and receiving a smile in return.

"Sure are."

"I'm glad," Eleanor said honestly, happy to find that at least some people were in a better mood than she was. Glancing at her watch, she realized that decidedly more time had passed than she had thought and that the regiment was likely to be moving again soon. She had better find the rest of the officers before then. "Right, I need to get going," she announced, straightening up and dusting off her ODs, "I'll see you two later."

"Yes ma'am!"

She ambled back along the main street, checking in on the other men and making sure they were all right. Most of them were up and about and getting ready for the day by now, enjoying their breakfasts or chatting amiably amongst themselves. Guarnere and Liebgott seemed to be the only exceptions, their tempers having once again gotten the better of them and resulting in an argument as they often did. Eleanor gave Joe Toye a hand in breaking the two of them up before continuing on toward her destination, turning down a cup of coffee from Smokey Gordon and tossing a spare bandage at Ralph Spina as she went. It was comforting to know the lot of them were doing well, but it also further underlined the absence of her own team and the empty space they had left around her. Not knowing where they were or how they were disconcerted her, to say the least.

She was all but lost in thought when she reached the battalion headquarters, steadily munching on the apple that Alley and More had given her; there were rumors going around that the British 30th Corps had been delayed because they had run into more enemy resistance than had been anticipated. She could only pray that her team's place at the back of the column currently moving up toward Eindhoven would mean its members were safe.

"Hey, beautiful," a much loved voice drawled behind her, snapping her out of her contemplation, but though she smiled at the sound of it she did not stop to wait for the person who had called out to her.

"Harry."

"You're looking awful glum this morning," her friend noted, briefly accelerating into a jog to catch up and cast a critical eye over her. _I guess it's showing, huh? So much for keeping it to myself._ She tilted her head to meet his gaze and raised an eyebrow.

"Glum? Me?" she countered, sarcasm evident in her tone, "I'm insulted you'd even suggest it."

Welsh shrugged, none too fussed by what he assumed was a mere case of having gotten up on the wrong side of the proverbial bed. "Well, turn that frown upside down and eat your apple," he said brightly, throwing the cigarette he'd been smoking onto the ground, "Strayer wants us at the CP."

_As expected, then._ "We're moving out again?"

"Within the hour."

She huffed a sardonic laugh, amused by the mere suggestion of haste. It would do them little good at this point; it seemed unlikely they would regain the time that had been lost. "Only half a day late."

"So are the Brits," Harry observed mildly, beginning to suspect there was more to her foul mood than a simple case of the morning dumps.

"Oh, I'm not saying they're doing any better," Eleanor concurred, nodding at Babe and Julian and returning their salutes as they walked past, "I just hope the other divisions are a little less worse off than we are."

"You and me both, babydoll."

"You, me, the entire Allied advance," she counted on her fingers, stepping through the door Harry was holding open for her, "Nothing to worry about though, right?"

"Jesus, you _are_ grumpy," the lieutenant commented, following in her footsteps as she wound her way through the busy foyer.

"Blame the lack of sleep if you must."

"Hey, it's not like you were forced to stay awake," Welsh parried, thinking about his own interrupted sleeping patterns as he had taken charge of the night's guard roster. Eleanor threw up her hands in frustration.

"Only because Strayer wouldn't let me take any of the watches!"

"You know how he is," Harry smirked, well aware it wasn't just Strayer who had objected to her staying out on the line and how sensitive of a topic the whole thing was to Eleanor.

"Excessively careful?" she shot back over her shoulder, sidestepping one of the battalion staff and beginning to ascend the staircase towards the colonel's temporary office.

"That's one way of putting it," Welsh mused, "But even if he did allow it, the men would probably get bent outta shape about it." Eleanor halted at the top of the steps and turned back toward the lieutenant with an exasperated roll of her eyes. All she got out of him in return was an even broader grin. "C'mon, it's the only chance we get to feel like we're protecting you. Humor us."

"Who said anything about needing protection?" she demanded, shaking her head and continuing on toward their destination.

"I'm sure Dick wouldn't disagree that you do."

"I'm sure _Dick_," she retorted, lowering her voice a notch to avoid scandal, "Could be persuaded otherwise."

Harry laughed. "That sounds like a challenge to me."

"It would be, if you want me to call Kitty and explain to her why her fiancee has suddenly resorted to trying to win the affections of a redheaded army captain..."

"Best not," he snorted, trying to imagine the conversation between the two women. There had to be better ways of introducing them to each other.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Eleanor said, a touch triumphant. If he was willing to use the significant other card, then so was she.

"You play a mean game, you know that?" he asked fondly, about to reach for the door when she grabbed a hold of the handle and opened it for him instead.

"Like I said," she shrugged, hanging back expectantly until he had gone through and she could go in after him, "I don't need protecting."

Yet when her eyes met Dick's across the room, so similar in color to the ones she had dreamed about, she was acutely aware that she _did_ need to be loved - as much of a cliche as that was. Swallowing down her heart, she smiled at him faintly and busied herself by talking to Lew Nixon instead of going to him. It was the easy way out, she knew, but right then and there the memory of the nightmare was still too fresh to address the matter. Besides, there was work to do; personal feelings would have to wait.

Little did she know she would end up regretting her decision to stall within the span of hours.

* * *

The last stretch of the road toward Eindhoven was as uneventful as most of the previous day had been, if not more so. For one, there were no bridges to be blown up along the way - something Eleanor was silently grateful for - and there was at most some sporadic fire from ill-concealed snipers to deal with. She could not help but wonder what their purpose had been; opening fire when your enemy outnumbers you a thousand to one wasn't a very clever play by anyone's book. They didn't do nearly enough damage for their assignment to have been as much, only slowing the column of Americans down by an additional hour or so. It didn't seem likely they were scouts either, given how quickly they were generally taken care of and how little time they would have had to pass on any kind of message; where that left the poor buggers, she wasn't sure._ Perhaps they've just been left behind... though I always thought it was the Japanese who had a penchant for suicidal missions, not the Germans._

When the 506th reached the city at last, they found it to be much like the towns they had encountered previously- save perhaps on a larger scale. Orange flags fluttered from nearly every balcony and people were dancing in the streets even before the first GIs had set foot upon them, welcoming the soldiers with open arms and heartfelt gratitude when they did. The roar of applause and singing was nearly deafening. The citizens' gratefulness and euphoria were as understandable as they were touching, but Eleanor knew from long experience that battles all too often appeared won before they actually were. Now, with the added and dubious delight of shoddy intelligence, such an unfortunate revelation was surely imminent. More than that, the festivities had the dangerous side effect of delaying the regiment's advance towards its intended targets even further, and the utter chaos of the situation would make an ambush exceedingly easy to achieve. Eleanor smiled and celebrated along as she had before, but the unease that had been at the back of her mind ever since she had landed on Dutch soil was steadily pushing its way to the front. This party could only last so long.

"_Oranje boven, oranje boven..._"

She'd become separated from the other officers soon after entering the main street, held up by the locals' incessant curiosity about finding a woman among the mass of khaki; their repeated attempts and requests for her to take off her helmet were starting to get on her nerves. To her relief she was able to stay at least somewhat close to Lipton, one of the few NCOs who appeared to be keeping a level-head amidst all the exuberance. "What are they singing?" the first sergeant asked her, smiling politely at yet another woman who came up to kiss his cheek.

Eleanor shook her head in bemusement. "Why does everyone assume I know Dutch?"

"_Lang leve de koningin!_"

"Sorry, Captain," Lip said, ducking his head apologetically.

"It's okay," she shrugged, tossing a bit of chocolate at some of the clamoring children, "I think they're singing about their queen." Not for the first time that day, she peeked at her watch only to discover that more time had elapsed than she had hoped for. "We really ought to get moving."

"What?" Lipton shouted back, in the midst of being pulled aside to have his picture taken. Eleanor was soon dragged in the same direction and only just remembered to lower her head at the flash so that her helmet obscured most of her face; it wouldn't do for the Germans to get their hands on a picture of her. _It's like we're damn Hollywood stars or something. Anytime soon now they'll be asking us for autographs!_

"We need to move," she repeated, shaking the hand of the photographer before pushing her way back into the crowd and beckoning Lipton along.

"Yes ma'am," he nodded, eyes brightening in recognition when he spotted a fellow soldier, "Bull! You seen Captain Winters?"

"No," the sturdy sergeant said, frowning, "Why?"

Lipton only patted him on the arm. "Keep your squad moving!"

"I'm gonna try and find the other officers," Eleanor decided, leaving Lip to get the rest of the company back into action. She waded through the masses at a snail's pace, being jostled and danced with wherever she turned, her fingers beginning to cramp from the absurd amount of hands she was shaking. Just when she had caught sight of a couple of helmets with vertical stripes, her eyes were drawn to one of the second-story windows nearby. Narrowing her eyes, she tilted her head and observed the frame for a long moment, almost certain she'd glanced a glint of metal only a split second before. _If we get into a sniper's crosshairs now, we're screwed._ Any gunman would only have to open fire on the masses of people below and he would be guaranteed to hit at least a few good targets; looking back at the officers she was now certain were her Easy Company friends, she observed with mild horror that their insignia were painfully visible to boot. Winters even had his binoculars out. They were making this entirely too simple for their adversaries.

"Dick!" she heard Nixon call in the distance, and she set her jaw in determination as she prepared to push through the last few meters of crowd between them with a litany of apologies. Keeping her face downturned to avoid further questions, she finally made it through, gently nudging aside an elderly gentleman so she could get to her friends. She looked up, raising her eyes, and was met by the sight of Dick kissing another woman.

It couldn't have lasted more than a second, but to Eleanor it felt like eternity. Though it was obvious the unknown girl had been the one to make the first move, it was the fact that Dick was kissing her back - no matter how fleetingly - that seemed to confirm his apathy towards Eleanor and had the nurse's heart sinking. It felt like a rug had been pulled out from underneath her feet and had left her to fall, down and down, until the doubts that had been gnawing at her all morning reached its zenith and the remnants of her idealized future shattered completely.

_Oh, God, how could I have ever let it get to this point? Where do I go from here?_ Her breath caught, alerting Winters to her presence. _Stop it, you're overreacting- there's always Louisiana-_

Their gazes met, hers pained, his mortified. His mouth opened wordlessly, color draining from his face abruptly. "Eleanor-"

She swallowed, clenching shaking fingers around the strap of her medical bag, old defenses kicking back in to place and drowning out any attempts at explanation he might have made. _Keep breathing. Keep going. Don't give in._ Her posture straightened. Y_ou're stronger than this, damn it. There's more to the future than just him._ "I'm worried there might be more snipers," she managed, the smile she directed at a gaping Nixon only a little tremulous. Dick shook his head.

"Ellie-"

"They'll aim at officers first," she continued numbly, too focused on keeping herself collected to notice the agonized undercurrent to his voice, "You stand out like a sore thumb."

Silence. Harry Welsh, coming up on the group from the side and looking between a stony faced but clearly upset Eleanor and his two colleagues scrambling to hide the emblems on their collars, swore quietly. "Shit."

"What's up, Welshy?" Buck Compton joined in, gratingly cheerful compared to the subdued mood of the rest of the group.

"Snipers," Welsh answered tersely, shifting the bag filled with maps and other documents he carried out of sight. Winters finally looked away from Eleanor.

"We gotta get to these bridges."

"The entire town's bogged down," she observed plainly, the chance to shift her focus to work a welcome one, "If we don't-"

"Where are your Jedburgh buddies?" Comtpon wondered aloud, and she had to admit that it was a reasonable question. She had halfway expected to have been greeted by the British team upon their arrival in Eindhoven or, at the very least, to have run into them by now.

"Hell if I know," she said frankly, brow creasing when she realized the cheering of the crowd seemed to have turned into aggravated chanting not too far away. "What's that commotion?"

The men shrugged their shoulders, not quite sure what was going on themselves, but following her without question as she headed towards the origin of the ruckus. Eleanor noticed one of the locals grabbing a hold of Nixon halfway down but was too caught up in her own concerns and soon too appalled by the scene unfolding in front of her to pay his sudden halt much heed. A handful of women - most of them forcibly stripped naked and weeping piteously - were knelt in the square, surrounded by jeering countrymen and guarded by armed resistance fighters. Eleanor watched, slack jawed and too shocked to speak for a moment, as they had their hair shorn off and swastikas drawn on their foreheads. _Nazi sympathizers?_ She bit her lip with a minute shake of her head, feeling guilty over reacting so strongly to her own situation when things could so obviously be so much worse. _Jesus, the poor things. They were probably just trying to survive._

She had half a mind to step in and put an end to it - surely this kind of behavior made none of them any better than the Germans? - but then perceived that interfering with local affairs probably wasn't the best of ideas, not when cooperation with the underground might end up being vital. Their reaction, extreme as it was, wasn't entirely incomprehensible, and she doubted that a young female 'medic' making a fuss about it would go down well. Behind her, the other officers looked on darkly, probably going through a similar thought process.

"What did they do?" Harry asked of no one in particular, as surprised as any of them were when his question was actually answered.

"They slept with the Germans," a heavily accented voice explained. Twisting around, Eleanor noted the Dutchman who had snatched Lew away earlier had joined their numbers, sharp eyes taking the four of them in - his gaze lingering on her briefly - before diverting to the square again. "They are lucky. The men who collaborated are being shot."

_Why doesn't that surprise me?_ The stranger was a bit older than most of them, tall and wiry, the bright orange brassard that denoted him as a member of the resistance a stark contrast to his dark clothing. Nixon, glancing up from the folded map in his hands, made the introductions.

"Mister Van Kooijk here is with the Dutch resistance."

"We've been waiting and hoping for this day for almost five years," the man told Winters, shaking the captain's hand emphatically.

"He says he can help us secure the bridges here," Nixon added, pointing their locations out on the map.

"Yes!" Van Kooijk said, almost enthusiastically, ushering the officers towards the main street, "Together we can push the remaining Germans out of Eindhoven. And that's just the beginning."

Winters seemed less convinced about the certainty of that and turned to Nixon. "Any idea where they might be?"

"Err, well," the intelligence officer said, readjusting the M-1 over his shoulder and shooting a look at Eleanor, "We're still working on that right now."

"I'd better find the Jeds, see what they know," she nodded, taking the hint; it was about time she figured out what was going on with Daniel-II anyway.

"We'll set up outposts for the time being," Winters resolved, watching their new acquaintance warily as the man went to talk to a few kids not far from where they were standing. Eleanor, seeing no reason to stay any longer, was about to head off when he called out her name. She froze and turned her head half-way around, not quite looking at him but not quite able to just ignore him either.

"Yeah?" she asked, more out of politeness than anything else, eager to get to work and simply forget about the earlier incident. She did not trust herself to keep her calm around him, not when she was already stressed about the mission and had slept so badly the night before. As much as she loathed her own inability to toughen up and just deal with it as she ought to, staying focused and getting her job done was far more important.

Winters looked uncertain, his lips pressed together tightly and eyes saddened. "Be careful," he said eventually. She smiled humorlessly.

"Sure."

* * *

It took Eleanor a good while to actually locate the Jedburgh team. Though the majority of the locals spoke English extraordinarily well, all of the Allied forces looked and sounded the same to them; there was no way for the Dutch to distinguish the Brits from the Americans, let alone the ones she was looking for. Finally, she spotted one of the men sitting around at one of the cafes, a girl on his lap and a beer in his hand. _God damn it._ Seeing an unusual clearing in the crowds, she broke into a jog and hurried over to the terrace.

_Fire or hemorrhage, Miss Fairfax_, her old hospital supervisor's voice intoned sternly in her mind; it was hard to believe now that there had been days when the only excuse for any kind of running had been either an impending inferno or a bleeding patient. She couldn't even remember when she had last been called 'miss', either- she had been an ensign first, then lieutenant, and now captain. There had always been some form of rank since she had gone to Scotland all those years ago.

"Sergeant Mason!" she called out, skidding to a halt in front of the radioman. The Brit looked up at her with a broad grin.

"Hello, miss!" he greeted her cheerfully, shooing away the woman that had been perched on his knees. Eleanor's eyebrows shot up. _Well then._ "We were wondering when you'd show up," he continued, not even bothering to get up for her.

"It's ma'am, actually," she remarked, irked. Besides the blatant lack of respect, she didn't like the way he had decided to address her; thing was, she wasn't a miss anymore, and for good reason. She outranked him several times over.

His smile didn't waver in the slightest. "You're a spook, aren't ya, love? A civvy, really," he argued, though not unpleasantly so, "That makes you a miss."

"I'm also a captain in the US Army Nursing Corps," she reminded him, leveling him with a threatening look until he finally got to his feet, "Which most definitely makes me a ma'am." She sighed, searching the area for any sign of the rest of the team. "Could you tell me where Major Wilson is?"

"No idea," the sergeant rejoined happily; she was starting to suspect he'd had more to drink than the single beer he was holding. "You could try over there."

She barely kept herself from throwing up her hands in frustration. "'Over there'?"

"Yeah! Isn't that how the song goes?"

_Heaven grant me patience._ "Could you be a little more specific, sergeant?"

The man grew serious at last. "I honestly wouldn't know, ma'am," he said, shifting the bottle between his hands nervously, "He said to enjoy the festivities, he did."

"Did he now?" she said sardonically, shaking her head. They were supposed to be a reconnaissance unit; the advance party. What good could they ever do if they just sat around and enjoyed themselves?

"Okay," she continued firmly, "Beer down, _now_. We're going to find the major."

"Find him?" Mason parroted, but he did as he was ordered and grabbed his beret off the head of another girl.

"What am I, speaking Greek?" she scoffed as he tried to apologize to the women surrounding them, "Yes, _find_ him. Let's go."

"Yes, Captain."

It didn't take them long to get down to work once they did find Wilson, though it was more because of Eleanor's insistence than the major's bidding. The process of gathering information from the locals - resistance and otherwise - turned out to be an even harder feat than Eleanor had feared; having been supplied with little to no information regarding the organization of the underground forces and on who to trust within them, the team had to depend on instinct alone and spent hours trying to find out if a source was reliable or not. The distribution of the information, too, was proving to be difficult at best and downright inefficient at worst. There were so many protocols and procedures to go through that what little intelligence they obtained would still not reach the infantry on time for it to be in any way effective.

What ticked Eleanor more of than anything, however - even the fact that the 101st had been forced to secure the last set of bridges based solely on unconfirmed information - was that Wilson had her talking to grunts throughout and still asserted his right to stick around for most of them at that. She had grown accustomed to interviewing the higher ranked members of the maquis in France, the ones who actually knew things worth a damn, and so what she was being forced to do in Holland felt like scut work, a waste of her time. It seemed impossible to get anywhere; for every tiny tidbit of potentially useful knowledge they gained, there were hours worth of befuddlement and futile attempts at getting to the heart of things. It didn't help that there were a mere five members within their unit, only two of whom were authorized to interrogate despite their lack of Dutch language skills.

They were halfway through the afternoon when Eleanor stumbled upon yet another problem: it seemed the Dutch weren't quite certain of who to talk to anymore. She couldn't fault them for it, not when the system (or lack thereof) was puzzling even to her at times, but it didn't speed up the whole thing any either.

"Jan, be honest with me here," she asked the Dutch sergeant who had been assigned to translate for her, the both of them leaning against the table opposite the man they were currently debriefing, "What's this guy trying to tell me?"

The sergeant sighed and folded his arms wearily, repeating what he had told her earlier. "He says he's already talked to the Americans."

"Yes, I get that," she said, "But any random GI or grade officer won't do." _Even if this fellow is one of those rare specimens who can tell the difference between a Brit and a Yank at all..._

The two Dutchmen conversed briefly before the soldier turned back to her. "I know, captain, but he insists he's spoken to an officer working with Allied intelligence."

_What the hell?_ "And he's sure he was American?" she frowned, unable to think of any American intelligence officer outside of regimental ranks- and surely the divisional intelligence section had been briefed to leave the locals to the Jedburghs?

"Very sure," the sergeant confirmed. Eleanor shook her head, bewildered.

"That doesn't make _sense_-"

The door opened with a creak as Mason popped his head in. "Captain Fairfax?"

"Yeah?" she called back, pushing herself off the table to face him. The British NCO was a whole lot more agreeable now that he was somewhat soberer and actually doing his job.

"The Guards Armored have just arrived, ma'am," he informed her, appearing to be as relieved about it as she felt, "General Taylor would like you to join him."

She couldn't help but smile at that._ About time. Thank goodness._ "All right," she agreed, grabbing her helmet from the table, "Jan, keep our friend here for the time being, see if you can find out who the hell it was he talked to."

"Yes ma'am."

Slinging her bag back around her shoulders, she joined Mason on his way out of the building. "Have you managed to get a hold of HQ or the other sub-mission yet?" she asked him, knowing that communications with any of the other outfits had been less than stellar thus far. It wouldn't hurt them to have an idea of the bigger picture.

"No ma'am."

As quickly as the relief at the news of the British tanks finally reaching the city had emerged, it disappeared again, replaced by a renewed concern over the lack of word from the north. "Damn it," she breathed, rubbing at her eyes wearily before spotting Wilson in the distance, encircled by resistance members. "Major Wilson!" she hailed him, nodding curtly at Mason as he headed the other way and she went to talk to his CO. "Sir, General Taylor's requested my presence-"

"Ah, yes," the major replied vaguely, barely glancing at her before turning to one of the men nearby, "Well, run along, then."

"Are you certain, sir?" Eleanor asked, scrutinizing the armed men with their orange armbands carefully; whatever they were there for, it seemed as though they were about to jump into action at any given moment. Given how keen Wilson seemed on sticking around their lot and how few of the Jedburgh team there were to go around, she wasn't sure if her leaving was the prudent option. "You seem busy."

"Oh, this?" Wilson said nonchalantly, waving his hand around, "These fine gentlemen here will show us where the collaborators are."

Eleanor sucked in an impatient breath._ That's neither our mandate nor our business._ "Sir, can I talk to you for a second?" she requested, as courteously as she could; he arched an eyebrow that clearly told her to go ahead. "Alone."

To his credit, he followed her to a more secluded area without any questions. "Whatever's on your mind, captain?"

_How to put this nicely..._ "It's not our job to dole out justice, sir."

The man's ruddy face hardened. "You don't need to remind me of that, I assure you," he told her severely, "I only want to ascertain our networks aren't infiltrated by Nazi sympathizers."

"That's commendable, sir, but how do we know the networks aren't infiltrated if we haven't debriefed them properly and check their intel?"

"How do you know I haven't done so already?" he challenged triumphantly, but she was one step ahead of him once more.

"There's dozens of them," she elaborated, infuriatingly calm and equally as condescending, "There's one of you. You spent most of the last few hours sitting in on my interviews. Unless you have a double walking around somewhere, sir, I highly doubt-"

"Captain Fairfax," someone interrupted, which given her steadily growing levels of agitation probably ended up saving her from speaking out of turn and earning a reprimand.

"General Taylor," she acknowledged her superior dutifully, saluting him. He offered her an indulgent smile and put her at ease before turning to his British colleague.

"Major Wilson, could I steal the good captain for a while?"

"Feel free to, sir," the Brit responded a little too quickly, very obviously glad to be rid of her. _Well, the feeling's mutual_, she thought gloomily, undeniably grateful when Taylor nodded at the major and beckoned her along. They had walked for several minutes when the general turned to her.

"What's got you all wound up?" he asked, kind as he always was towards her. She bit her lip thoughtfully.

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Granted."

She drew in a deep breath. "We're ineffective and we're slow. Worst of all, the intel is unreliable. No one seems to know who the head honcho is around here or how to find him- we just don't know who to trust. Rules regarding dissemination are so strict there's almost none at all- they've had me talking to low-level drudges since we've arrived and I'm hardly any wiser than I was before-"

"Whoa, whoa," Taylor bid, holding up his hand with laugh, "Take a breath, kid. I'm sure it'll be all right."

"Sir, your regiments just took the Dommel bridges practically _by themselves_," she reminded him, shaking her head in exasperation, "They may as well have gone in blind. Surely this isn't ideal."

"Since when has anything in this war been ideal, Eleanor?" he pointed out in turn, smiling slightly. The two of them had reached the main part of the city by now, the celebrations having reignited now that the tanks were rolling into the streets. The British, though visibly battered, were merrily making their way through the crowds, reveling in what their American counterparts had been experiencing for almost two days now- the unadulterated gratitude of a previously oppressed country.

Taylor, spotting a Brit officer, waved the man over. "Colonel!"

The officer in question ambled over at the summons, saluting the two Americans smartly - palm turned outward in the British style - and inclining his head. Going by his uniform he was an Irish Guardsman, as tall as some of the Dutch men and sporting a neat mustache like most of the commissioned British men; more than anything, he stood out because of the shamrock green ascot tied around his neck. Taylor looked him up and down surreptitiously.

"What's your name, son?"

"John Vandeleur, sir," the colonel answered politely, shaking Taylor's hand when it was extended to him and he was given a name in exchange.

"Maxwell Taylor."

"A privilege, sir," Vandeleur said pleasantly, smiling as he turned to address Eleanor. "You must be Fairfax."

She barely kept her jaw from dropping. _Hold on a second_. "I am, yes sir," she confirmed bemusedly, shaking his hand in turn, "How did you know?"

"I met your team back in Belgium," he explained, a charming twinkle to his eyes, "They were rather eager to hitch a ride on my tanks, you see."

Eleanor fought the urge to groan. _Of course they were, the fools_. They were meant to have been at the back of the column; if the vehicles of the Irish Guard were any indication, the vanguard had it rough on the way over, and the thought that her girls might have been anywhere near them had her heart seizing in fear. "Sir, please tell me you didn't allow them to."

"Not to worry, my dear, they're with the supply trucks at the rear of the cavalcade," he was quick to assure her, "Quite safe."

She breathed out in relief, a smile forming tugging at her lips. It was a tough enough day as it was; the last thing she needed was even more things to worry about. "Thank you, sir."

Taylor, having allowed the two subordinate officers their conversation, clapped Vandeleur on the shoulder and began to lead him back towards his tanks. "Colonel, I was hoping you could tell me where I could find General Adair."

"I believe he's further down along this street, sir," Vandeleur said, pointing towards the column of vehicles lined up besides the houses. Taylor nodded, satisfied.

"And your Bailey supplies?"

"That same direction, sir."

_Of course_, Eleanor thought, _we still have to get them across the Son channel._ She had been so busy trying to figure out what their strategic position was that she had all but forgotten about the demolished crossing. The ingenious pre-made British truss bridge would hopefully go some way in moving the operation along.

"Good," Taylor concluded, halting so he could talk to Eleanor. "Captain Fairfax, could you tell Colonel Sink to head out towards Tongelre and set up his CP there to await further orders?"

She snapped off a salute. "Yes sir."

Off she was again, winding through the crowds with more ease than before; fascinated as the citizens were by the Brits and their armor, it was as almost as if they had been given a new toy to play with and had discarded the old one. That, and Eleanor was becoming better at dodging overly curious bystanders in any case. Though it shouldn't really have surprised her, she was still shocked to notice that the majority of the British troops were settling down to tea. Considering the amount of time already lost to logistical problems and various other delays there was really no time to waste, and yet the men of the newly arrived 30th Corps seemed to have no qualms about sitting back and taking it easy for a bit. Eleanor knew that, in fairness, they'd probably endured a hell of a few days and could do with a break, but she couldn't help but be irritated that they had chosen to take one at that very moment.

She found the 506th on guard at the eastern edge of the city, those who weren't on duty making nice with the locals or messing about amongst themselves. It amused her to see that some of the men apparently had been asked for autographs; there were children giggling over cards with anything from Dick Tracy to Eisenhower written on them in terms of names, something she expected was the work of some of the cheekier GIs. She brushed off two little girls asking for her signature as kindly as she could, moving past third battalion and onto second, all the while keeping an eye out for the regimental CO.

As fate would have it, Easy spotted her first. "Hey, Captain!" Johnny Martin hollered, waving her over from where the majority of first platoon was gathered around yet another cafe-turned-company CP. The replacements were surprisingly evenly mixed in among the veterans; many if not most of them appeared to have taken a page out of Babe Heffron's book and had found themselves someone to buddy up with, someone they knew would look after them when things got tough. She marveled that she hadn't spotted it before. Webster - though not technically a replacement - practically shadowed Van Klinken and Garcia all but worshipped Randleman; even Miller - currently looking adorably inebriated, all of eighteen and not at all used to drinking beer - seemed seemed to have warmed up to Cobb now that the latter was making an effort to be less of a jerk. It gladdened her to know they had meshed so well.

"Come have a drink with us, doll," Martin wheedled, holding out a bottle of some form of spirits to her. She shook her head.

"Can't, I'm afraid," she said regretfully, "I have work to do, so I'll leave the alcohol to you lot."

"Aw, come on, Ellie," Pat Christenson joined in, grabbing her by the wrist as she passed him by and promptly pulling her into a free chair nearby. Within seconds, Bull had deposited a glass of something that looked suspiciously like cider in front of her and the new kids wore matching expressions hovering between amazement and amusement. "Just one glass. It's only apple juice."

"Right," she grumbled, staring at the cloudy liquid inside the tumbler for a moment before throwing caution to the wind and grabbing a hold of it. _If the Brits can have their tea, I can have my bloody drink._ "I ought to have you all put on kitchen duty for the rest of the week."

"But you won't," Hoobler grinned, yelping in surprise when she chugged back the entire glass at once. He hadn't seen that coming.

She swallowed. _Damn. Definitely cider._ "Right then!" she declared, glad she had remembered to eat lunch not too long ago, "I've had my drink, you've had your fun- back to work."

Protests rose up amongst the group but were stilled instantaneously when a number of the company officers arrived and the enlisted men shot up to attention. Eleanor had to bite her lip to keep from smirking.

"Fellas," she greeted the senior men, smile fading quickly and posture stiffening when she spotted Winters towards the back. "Dick."

"At ease," he told the men and inclined his head at her, straightforward, business like, and the knot that had been in her stomach throughout the day tightened further. The Jedburgh work had kept her busy enough that she had been able to block out what had happened, at least for a little while, but now that she was face to face with him all of the hurt and dismay came flooding back like a tidal wave. _Just breathe. Even without him you have more purpose now than you had on either of your last SOE missions. Life goes on. Breathe._

"Eleanor," he returned, countenance unreadable, "The men weren't giving you any trouble, were they?"

She bristled at that. _They are my friends as much as any of the officers, and they know damn well I outrank them. Are we back to patronization, then?_ "Of course not," she said stonily, spinning to talk to the rest of the group. "Any of you seen Colonel Sink?"

"Think I saw him talking to Chase down that-a-way," Nixon shrugged, attention evidently having been claimed by the gratuitous amount of alcohol around the premises.

"What's the news, captain?" Lieutenant Peacock asked eagerly. She took off her helmet as she got to her feet.

"General Taylor wants the regiment to move to one of the suburbs."

"What about the Limeys?" Welsh inquired, and she was unable to keep herself from pulling a face when she answered him.

"Why, they're having tea, don't you know," she droned, reverting back to her old received pronunciation momentarily for added effect. The enlisted men - listening in with half an ear - struggled to keep their faces straight; Welsh and the others had no such reservations.

"Christ, Captain, that's a hell of an imitation," Peacock chuckled, falling quiet when he noticed that she wasn't laughing.

"Thank you," she said, "But I wasn't kidding."

Buck Compton shook his head with a small noise of astonishment. "Unbelievable."

"Guess that was to be expected, huh?" Harry sighed, eyes momentarily following Nixon as he wandered off without explanation. Eleanor shook her head.

"There are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea," she recited drolly, not bothering to mention it had in truth been an American who had written that. The whole tea debacle had only been one of many nuisances that day; in the grand scheme of things, it didn't even really bother her all that much.

"Harry, find the other grade officers for me, get them assembled," Winters told his XO, checking his watch and folding his arms. "Anything from the Jedburgh team, Elle?"

"Let's not even go there," she said, hesistant to complain in front of the men too much and stepping past the assembled officers instead, "I'll see you boys later."

She had maybe moved half a meter when Winters called after her once again. "Eleanor, wait."

"What is it, Captain?" she said flatly, fully turning around this time, though she was still not sure if she should - or indeed if she _could_ - be near him without getting irrationally angry and anxious.

"Can we talk?" he asked her softly, and she finally caught on to the hint of regret and ache in his voice. Contrite warred with despondency in her heart. _Maybe we should talk. Maybe I'm just overreacting- surely not giving him a chance to explain isn't exactly fair of me..._

But all of that went out of the window when she spoke up. "I'm a little busy right now," she replied haltingly, forcing a faint smile and walking on without another sound, suddenly feeling weary beyond words. _Four years. I'm still here, though God only knows why._

"Ellie, I'm sorry-"

She didn't stop, didn't turn, kept on walking even as she brushed a hand through her hair and lowered her head to hide the tears that stood heavily in her eyes.

_Yeah. So am I._

* * *

**Apologies as ever for taking longer than I used to - dissertation writing is seriously killing my writing swag, I'm afraid, but I remain steadfast in my determination to finish this properly! The good news is that I almost have the next chapter done as well; the two combined were going to form a single chapter at first, but the word count would have been insane if I had kept it that way. Said chapter should be up within a week at the latest!**

**Reviews are hugely appreciated. Thanks for reading!**


	27. Run, Rabbit, Run

**Disclaimer: this story is based chiefly on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.**

* * *

_Never mind Pennsylvania. I might not be able to return to England but I could go back to Louisiana, back to that old colonial house with its wide galleries and the French doors opening out onto the sprawling grounds. Philip would appreciate the company, no doubt, and it'd be good to see him, but then it's so far from everything else- from everyone else. What on earth would I do around Lafayette? Maybe the north would be better. I can't very well impede on Harry's soon to be marital bliss, but maybe I can stay with Lew for a while, at least until I figure things out._

"Ellie."

_Of course, he's all but inseparable from Dick, but I suppose I'll have to learn to at least be civil toward him... Jesus Christ, when did it get to be about avoiding him? Calm down already, you're overreacting-_

"Ellie!"

Turning around as the sound of her own name finally filtered through to her weary mind, Eleanor came face to face with Joe Toye's concerned brown eyes. She hadn't even realized how out of it she'd been - how deeply submerged by the swirl of her own thoughts she had become - until the sergeant squeezed her arm gently and pulled her out of it.

"Hey, babe, you okay?" he asked softly, somewhat unnerved by her glazed expression. She had always been a steady, sympathetic presence and while it was no secret that she had her issues - and who could blame her, after having been in the war for so long? - she was unwavering in her support to the men and resolute in the leadership of her team. To see her this fazed was disconcerting.

"Yeah," she nodded, mustering a smile. Toye had obviously been taken aback by her silence; it wouldn't do for him to fret over her like that. _God damn it, you can't just let them see you like this. Get it together. _"Just been a long day."

"I bet," he said, returning her smile but sounding less than convinced. She patted the hand on her arm reassuringly.

"I'd better get going," she told him, quirking a conspiratorial eyebrow as she shrugged out of his hold and began to move away, "I've got some intelligence officers to get in line." _And ain't that the truth._

It seemed Toye wasn't about to let her go, however, jogging after her until he was by her side again. "Hey, why don't you stay with us for a bit, huh?" he suggested, relieved to see her back in control of herself but nevertheless concerned by how evidently tired she was. She wasn't one to slip up like that. "Rest up."

She gnawed her lip between her teeth. _I've left the Jeds to their own devices for quite some time already. I ought to check up on them. _"Really, I need to get back-"

"C'mon, just for a bit," the sergeant coaxed, stepping out in front of her and effectively bringing her to a halt, "That won't hurt no one, right?" She sighed, rubbing a hand across her brow and weighing her options. There was no denying that she was tired, and though her own absence from the intelligence team tormented her, she doubted there was much she could do at that point. It was more than likely that Wilson had dismissed the team for the night, in which case it would be near impossible to get anything done at all. _It's not like you would mind sitting with the boys for a bit either, and knowing that you're tired surely wouldn't hurt them._

"Don't make me tell Captain Winters on you," Toye threatened jokingly, unaware of how close to the bone the remark cut as a result of that day's incident. Eleanor winced, still dithering on whether to go with him or not.

"Joe-"

"Please?" he tried instead, switching tactics, "We'll even get you some of that Limey stuff you like so much."

She couldn't help but chuckle at that; the men's aversion to the 'Limey stuff' Toye was referring to was becoming somewhat of a running joke. "You mean tea?"

"That's what I said!" he asserted, slinging an arm around her shoulders amicably and steering her toward where his platoon was resting for the night. "C'mon. Mellet's scrounging skills could do with some brushin' up anyway."

"There's Brits everywhere," she said, unconsciously nestling closer into his embrace, "I doubt he'll have to go through too much trouble."

"I hear ya," Toye smirked, but the smile was soon replaced by a frown as his arm slackened the slightest bit around her. "Ellie," he said, voice trailing off for a moment, "Are your girls-"

_He wants to know if Betty's okay. _She smiled up at him fondly. _Of course he does. _"No," she said, shaking her head minutely, "Not yet, but they're all right, and they'll be here tomorrow."

His relief at hearing his sweetheart was alive and well was palpable. "Good," he sighed, tightening his grasp on her again as they neared the men of second platoon where they were gathered around a small campfire. "Hey, fellas, look who I found!"

A dozen or so faces snapped up in instant. "Heeey, Captain!" Penkala greeted, cheeks dimpling as he grinned at her, patting the grass next to him by ways of an invitation for her to sit. She obliged him happily, untangling herself from Toye's arm and lowering herself besides the mortar squad.

"Boys," she returned, folding up her legs beneath her and taking off her helmet, "What's the news?"

"Oh, you know," Muck said airily, using his spoon to launch a bit of less than appetizing-looking K-ration at Malarkey, "Sitting around, drinking the local."

"As you do," Eleanor smiled, watching in amusement as Malarkey lunged at Skip and shoved him playfully, sending him - as well as his makeshift missile - sprawling onto the ground. The redhead straightened himself in triumph, raising the bottle of beer he'd been holding in an impromptu toast.

"As we do!"

"Any word on where we're headed next, ma'am?" Chuck Grant spoke up from where he was seated on her other side, his M-1 laid out across his lap, disassembled and in the process of being serviced. Eleanor hummed thoughtfully.

"I'd imagine General Taylor wants to fortify our hold on the city," she pondered aloud, knowing that their next steps would depend largely on how the other divisions were faring and that what little news had been received from them thus far wasn't all that positive. Not wanting to alarm the men too much, she played the prevailing problems down deftly. "Beyond that, who knows?"

Footsteps alerted them to more people approaching. "Ellie!" Bill Guarnere called out to her cheerfully, ruffling her hair as he passed her by, "Aren'tcha a sight for sore eyes."

"Hello, Bill," she grumbled fondly, running a hand through her now mussed hair. It seemed Guarnere - despite being platoon sergeant - had been on scrounging duty along with Mellet; it was almost worrisome how laid back the lot of them appeared to be.

Toye, remembering his promise to Eleanor, waved Mellet over. "Hey, Frank, you get any of that tea stuff?"

"As a matter of fact I did," the private answered, tossing a packet of it at Eleanor without so much as asking why Toye had wanted to know, "Here you go, Captain."

"Thanks, Frank," she said gratefully, feeling a surge of affection for the men when Smokey Gordon promptly produced a tin of hot water for her as well. She dropped one of the tea bags into the cup, closing her eyes and inhaling the scented steam contentedly as she swirled the liquid around. When she opened her eyes again, she found half a platoon of troopers staring back at her oddly.

"You'd think none of you'd had tea before," she remarked wryly, stealing Skip's spoon for a moment so she could fish out the teabag and take a cautious first sip. It wasn't a particularly fine blend by any means, but it would do.

"My grandma insisted I had some once," Penkala mused, shuddering theatrically as he recalled the incident, "Awful stuff."

"Give me coffee any day," Grant agreed, clicking his weapon back together. Guarnere snorted.

"Of the Irish kind, maybe!" The men burst out into laughter, but Eleanor was too busy savoring her tea to join in. Tea rations had been scarce in Aldbourne and next to non-existent in Normandy; what little she was able to enjoy these days she relished as much as she could. The taste of it reminded her of her childhood, of her mother's kettle brewing whenever she came home from school, a little bit of comfort in a wearisome world. Watching her drink it, Skip Muck tilted his head slyly.

"You sure you ain't British, Captain?"

Eleanor blanched. It had been another half-teasing comment, but it seemed that those were the most perilous of all that evening. Though the men were well aware of the more clandestine nature of her assignment and the fact that she had been around Europe for a lot longer than any of them had been, they still had no idea that she was anything more than an American citizen. Only Dick, Nix and Harry knew the full extent of her story, besides a few of the higher ups and the members of her team; the thought of the information being revealed like this undoubtedly frightened her, the old habit of keeping every last detail to herself a tough one to break with. _The less they know the better, _the operative in her whispered fiercely, _can't be too careful._

Yet at the same time, there seemed little harm in it; if anything, it might explain why she had supposedly chosen to become a medic so early on in the war, well before Pearl Harbor had been attacked and the United States had become embroiled in the conflict. She trusted these men unequivocally and doubted telling them would prove dangerous now that she no longer worked as an undercover; above all, she just wanted to be honest with them. She averted her eyes and kept silent - it was all the answer they needed.

"No way!" Muck exclaimed, eyes wide, looking between Eleanor and his friends. Malarkey gaped right along with him.

"But you sound American!"

Her smile was fleeting and tinged with the barest hint of sadness. "I didn't always," she said quietly, the words lilting with her old English accent and making what few jaws that hadn't hit the floor already do so regardless.

"How-"

"I'm half-British," she explained, clearing her throat and holding up her hand to silence them, "Half-American. I was living in London when Adolf came a-knocking."

For a long few moments, silence was prevalent. "Jesus," Toye muttered eventually, scrutinizing her quietly, the light of the fire flickering across his features as he did so. Penkala shook his head in astonishment.

"You really weren't kidding when you said you'd been in the war for a while," he said, more of a statement than a question, and she pressed her lips together briefly.

"Four years," she confirmed, "Five, if you count the official declaration of war."

Guarnere let out a low whistle. "Fucking hell, doll," he blurted, "Anything else ya need to tell us?"

"I don't know," she said, fighting a smile and a sudden burst of wry humor, "I have a secret French husband?" Several pairs of eyes stared back at her, incredulous, and she almost choked on laughter at seeing they actually believed such a preposterous statement. "I'm kidding!"

There were strained chuckles around the group, but none of the men present seemed any more at ease with the recent revelation than they had been before. While they had long ago acknowledged that there was more to her than met the eye, she was a person they trusted, someone they thought they knew. This latest bit of information left them wondering if there was anything else she had neglected to tell them.

"Do the officers know?" Grant asked tentatively, his rifle abandoned in his lap. Eleanor considered her answer.

"A few," she said slowly, tone carefully nonchalant, "Those who need to, anyway. It just means that I've been around the ETO longer than most."

"What the hell did you do all those years?" Mellet wanted to know, voicing what was no doubt on many of their minds.

"I worked as a nurse," she replied simply, sticking to her previous story. As much as she hated lying to them, the disclosure of her European roots was quite enough; her whole background with the SOE was still far too sensitive to divulge. In fact, looking around the group, she was starting to regret telling them any of it in the first place. There was a lingering undercurrent of unease she didn't much care for, a resonance of disturbance she did not like being the cause of; she could only hope she hadn't just irrevocably damaged their friendship.

"This doesn't change anything, you know," she said softly, fingers picking at the grass distractedly. To her relief, Guarnere made a abrupt sound of disgust and shook his head empathetically.

"Of course not," he declared, smiling at her warmly and somehow managing to single-handedly lift the mood of the entire group, "You're still our gal." For once, she let his possessiveness slip, darting sideways when Skip attempted to thwack her against the arm good naturedly.

"And always will be!" he agreed jovially, "So long as you don't end up calling us 'old boy'."

"Or start feeding us crumpets," Penkala added, winking at her playfully. Malarkey grinned broadly besides him.

"Or make us wear leg bags!" he finished with a flair, the laughter resonating among the platoon genuine and heartfelt this time. Eleanor ducked her head and smiled.

"I promise I won't," she vowed without hesitation, heart swelling with love at the knowledge that they were still willing to put up with her despite it all. No matter what the future might bring, she knew she would be able to face it so long as she had the camaraderie and support of these men. She looked across at Bill and Joe gratefully, wordlessly trying to convey all that she wanted to say, and was glad to see them both nod in response just as Skip launched into another one of his stories.

"Now, did I tell you about the time..."

* * *

"Ellie, wake up. Come on, doll..."

Voices - _familiar _voices, seemingly intent on getting through to her, and yet never quite managing to do so. She was so tired still - the warmth of sleep so appealing, her makeshift bed so comfortable - that she groaned quietly and curled in on herself in an attempt to get away from the tenacious hands trying to shake her awake.

"Man, she is out of it. What'd you do, drug her?"

"Shaddap, Tab."

_Yeah, shut up, Tab. Leave me to sleep..._

"Probably just tired. I swear she'll work herself into the ground one day..."

_All right, fine. _She opened her eyes groggily, squinting into the darkness until the two faces that hovered over her came into focus. Something reverberated beneath her. "Here we go!"

"Hey there, duchess," Talbert smiled, grabbing his canteen and taking a long draught from it as she rubbed a hand across her eyes.

"What's going on?"

"We're about to take over the watch," Grant explained, and part of her sleep-fogged mind began to grasp that her improvised sleeping place felt an awful lot like a human being - not to mention the strange coincidence of Grant's easy going cadence corresponding with the reverberations she had felt earlier, and the dawning discernment that he wasn't standing with Tab and Guarnere, either...

"And so you wake me up?" she groused, not particularly happy at having her rest disturbed.

"Sorry, captain-"

"Yeah, yeah, he's not," Guarnere said, vaguely impatient, "Case you ain't noticed, you're using Chuckles here as your goddamn pillow."

_I'm what? _She shifted and looked up, finally realizing that she'd been nestled up against Grant's side all this time. "Oh," she breathed, blushing, "I'm sorry." _He makes for a darn comfortable cushion, though..._

"It's all right," the sergeant said gently, flexing his arm to restore the blood flow as she sat up and cracked her spine. "For what it's worth, I'm sure Tab would be more than happy to replace me."

Eleanor raised a skeptical eyebrow at their famously man-about-town friend. "After I throw a dozen prophylactic kits at him, maybe."

Guarnere cackled and Grant grinned at the unexpectedly sardonic remark; Tab seemed decidedly less impressed. "You are _not _a nice person when you've just woken up," he told Eleanor, prodding the dying embers of the campfire with the toe of his boot.

"I'm really not a nice person, period," she shrugged, "I thought you knew that by now." Glancing around the area, she noticed that part of the platoon was still fast asleep. The mortar boys were sprawled all over each other, Skip slumped against Penkala's shoulder and Malarkey's head resting on the former's thighs, a tangle of arms and legs and softly snoring soldiers. It was a heartwarming sight, but she couldn't deny being somewhat envious of them.

"How come they're still asleep?"

"They're on second shift," Guarnere explained, hoisting his rifle over his shoulder and gathering up the men that were going on duty straight away, "All right, first squad, let's go," he called, leading the small group away towards the edges of their encampment. He turned back just before he disappeared out of sight, raising his gun at those left behind in a joking salute.

"Night, ladies!"

"Night," Eleanor echoed, smiling at Grant as he too vanished into the darkness. Covering a yawn with her hand, she tilted her head and contemplated Talbert as he continued his efforts to rekindle the ashes nearby. "Where's your platoon?"

"Over in the barn," he said, expertly striking off a match and dropping it onto the pile of twigs and hay he'd assembled, "Figured I'd stay out here in case something comes up."

Zipping up her field jacket and stuffing her cold hands underneath her arms, Eleanor smiled at him wryly, unable to resist poking a little more fun at him. "You sure you're not waiting for some grateful Dutchwoman to show up?"

"Jesus, do you have to assume the worst?" he asked, sitting back on his haunches and shaking his head when all she did was level him with a mildly dubious look. "I suppose I deserve that."

"Yeah, you kinda do," she agreed, immediately reminded of Nancy's young, crestfallen face when the affair between the two of them had come to an end. As painful as it had been for the young nurse it had probably been for the better in the long run, especially given the seemingly continuous increase in the sergeant's womanizing ways. Talbert, as though sensing she was thinking about her protegee, scowled glumly.

"For the record, it was her who broke up with me, not the other way around."

Eleanor nodded. "I know."

"You do?" he frowned, apparently surprised to hear it, "Then why-"

"Come on, Tab," she sighed, eager to get back to sleep, "I've seen the way you are around women. You go into a bar with one, you come out with another. You're a good guy, but you change girls faster than you would a pair of socks. It was only a matter of time-"

"'Only a matter of time'?" he repeated disbelievingly, anger mixing with hurt in his blue eyes, "For fuck's sake, Elle, d'you ever stop and think you might be wrong?"

_Too damn much, _she thought to herself, thrown by his sudden intensity. _What's he on about?_

"Floyd-"

"It wasn't like that," he insisted, pointedly, "Not with her. I would never-" He fell quiet, tugging distractedly at his bottom lip. His shoulders slumped and Eleanor felt a stab of guilt and pity, realization hitting her like a sledgehammer. _Jesus. He actually cared about her._

"She was different," he concluded quietly, looking up at her plaintively, willing her to understand, "She broke up with _me._"

"I'm sorry," Eleanor whispered, acutely aware that her own meddling might have caused more heartache than she had ever intended. _I really need to stop jumping to conclusions, don't I?_

"Yeah," Talbert said, exhaling slowly and smiling faintly as he scooted over towards her, "So do I need to play pillow, or what?"

"No," she chuckled, glad the tension was gone as quickly as it had emerged; a lesser man would not have forgiven her so easily. "No, it's okay." She stretched out on the grass languidly, crossing her legs at the ankles and folding her arms underneath her head to gaze at the night sky. Tab soon reclined next to her, the two of them exchanging smiles for a second before looking back up again.

"What's that cluster of stars there?" he asked her curiously, pointing up towards a certain area.

"There?" she said, waiting for his affirmation before telling him, "That's Orion, and that there's his big dog, Canis Major."

"I like dogs," Tab nodded pensively. She smiled and closed her eyes.

"Me too."

* * *

Eleanor awoke the next morning in a significantly better mood than she had the day before. Besides the interruption at the changing of the guard, she had enjoyed a blissfully dream free and full night's worth of sleep, something that by itself left her feeling refreshed and ready to face the day. The company of the men had done her good, too, loathe as she might be to admit to it; the reassurance of their friendship and the knowledge that she wouldn't be alone no matter what the future might bring had been a much-needed one. Accompanying this spike in spirits and energy, however, was a certain clarity of mind and the sharp sting of guilt; she couldn't help but wonder if she had been unnecessarily harsh toward Dick, if her own fears and uncertainties had led her to overreact to the incident with the woman in Eindhoven. _I was wrong about Tab, despite having far more cause to doubt him; what if I'm wrong about this whole thing, too? Surely I should at least give him a chance to explain?_

With that in mind - and half a plan to find Dick and talk to him - she went to see Easy off as they prepared to move on one of the outlying villages. A handful of the British Cromwell tanks crawled along the street with her, having been detached to accompany the 506th on their duties. Eleanor had spoken to one of the tank commanders not long before, receiving confirmation that the Bailey bridge across the Wilhelmina canal at Son had finally been finished and that the British Armored Division was moving across it at last. By then, their part in the operation had been delayed by almost two whole days and the 101st wasn't doing much better. They pushed on all the same, determined to make the most out of their predicament and each side - as the British officer had related to her - waving goodbye to their colleagues with cheerful promises of seeing the other in Berlin. _Christmas_, they had said, _and we'll all be home by the new year_.

She knew better than to believe that but had smiled politely at the Brit nonetheless, offering to show his detail to where second battalion was awaiting them. Company E was gathering their gear and all but ready to go when they reached them, the whole area abuzz with activity, orders being shouted, NCOs looking after their squads and officers after their platoons; it was so busy it was hard to find anyone at all. Informing the tank commander that she was heading off, Eleanor pushed through the crowds of friends, greeting them in passing but never lingering long enough for them to strike up a conversation. The majority of the men seemed to expect another day of applauding locals and sunny merrymaking, yet somehow Eleanor had the sinking feeling they would be proven wrong in that.

"All right, mount up! We're moving out!" someone - Brewer, possibly? - shouted as she walked by, straining to see over the mass of helmets and ODs. She eventually made out Nixon's impressive eyebrows among the many faces and ran over to catch up with him, smiling when he looked up at her.

"Helmond, is it?" she asked, having been informed of their destination the night before. Lew nodded.

"Yeah," he confirmed, "Division could do with the extra ground. That," he slung his rifle over his shoulder, "And they probably want to know where all the old men and kids went."

"And so you get send out to poke at them with a stick," Eleanor said, shaking her head resignedly. Little - too little, really - was known about Helmond and the towns that lay between it and Eindhoven. Enemy opposition was expected but no one quite knew how much or at what point along the way; neither the intercepted German messages nor the local resistance had been of much use in clarifying either of those vital points. It was, in all honesty, an ambush waiting to happen.

"More or less."

"Of course," she sighed, biting her lip anxiously. "Be safe, would you?"

"You're not coming with us?" Nixon asked, halfway up a tank already. She wasn't; there was plenty for her to do around both Tongelre and Eindhoven and she still didn't wholly trust the Jedburgh team not to screw things up further. Sticking around seemed like the right thing to do.

"Someone's got to sort out-"

"As a matter of fact, Captain," someone interrupted her, and she turned around to find an unsmiling Colonel Strayer regarding her, "You _are_ coming along."

She blinked. "Excuse me, sir?"

"Colonel Sink's orders," the battalion CO explained, "Easy will be making up the vanguard for this mission and they could do with another medic."

_Sure, and I would love to go if I were able to be in two places at once, but..._ "Sir, my team's meant to be coming in soon-"

"Colonel's orders, Fairfax," Strayer rebutted, his tone leaving no room for argument. She saluted him sharply, recognizing a lost cause when she saw one.

"Yes sir," she said dutifully, waiting for him to leave before looking back up at Lew and rolling her eyes. "Guess I'll be coming with you after all."

Nixon snorted. "Dick's going to _love_ that," he predicted, his grin fading when she remained quiet and all but awkwardly shuffled her feet. "Don't tell me you're still not talking to him!"

"Just haven't the chance yet, Lew" she said softly, smiling at the tank commander in greeting before grabbing a hold of the machine and climbing on.

"Yeah, but-"

"I'll talk to him later, all right?" she promised half-heartedly, holding out her hand to her friend, "Come on."

The march to Nuenen was pleasant enough at first, the sun shining down on the cavalcade and the memory of the celebrations in Eindhoven still fresh on everyone's minds. It didn't hurt that they were able to hitch a ride on the spluttering, creaking British tanks; not having to walk several kilometers was never a bad thing as far as the troopers were concerned, even when their method of transport made such an inordinate amount of noise. Eleanor remained at the back of the line with those officers not in charge of any of the platoons, scrutinizing their surroundings and constantly on guard. She wasn't sure if it was long-honed experience or pure gut instinct, but she had a bad feeling about the entire situation that wasn't just caused by the knowledge that their assignment was an ill-advised one. There was a tension in the air that was unmistakable, an apprehension that had the hairs on the back of her neck standing on edge; it felt as though something might happen at any given moment, and it was not a feeling she enjoyed.

Of course, few of the men seemed to share her concern, chatting away casually and dividing up rations for lunch. Even Harry seemed intent on heralding his friends with yet another story about Kitty Grogan, recounting how she had once climbed down the side of her parents' house just so she could meet up with him. "And down she goes, all the way along the damn drainpipe-"

Eleanor, only half listening, smiled indulgently and shook her head with fond amusement before realizing that Dick was looking at her. She turned toward him hesitantly, their eyes meeting in silence, neither quite knowing what to say. There were so many things she wanted to express - regret, hurt, uncertainty - but she found herself at an utter loss for words in the face of his steady, vaguely longing gaze. "Do you think he'll ever shut up?" she said at length, settling for neutral ground and watching his reaction carefully. The tiniest of smiles tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Probably not," he replied, glancing over at Welsh briefly to make sure he hadn't heard. When he turned back to Eleanor, the smile was gone and his brow had furrowed into a frown. "Ellie-"

"Who the fuck is that up front?" Welsh interrupted brusquely, making a little noise of contemptuous surprise at whoever he had spotted. Three pairs of binoculars were whipped out within an instant as the group of friends sought to discover who Harry was talking about. Sure enough, there was a man at the very head of the column, tall and striking and so clearly an officer it was almost laughable - if the three of them had made good targets the day before, he surely was a perfect one. "It's Brewer," Nixon scoffed, voicing the conclusion they had all come to.

"Get him on the radio to me now," Winters ordered the nearest technician, sounding less than thrilled by the situation. They jumped off the tank in unison, Welsh offering Eleanor a hand down as the radioman tried to establish contact with first platoon.

"Easy Red, Easy Red, Easy Six-"

"What does he think he's doing?" Eleanor frowned, able to see the replacement officer even from her position all the way at the rear of the column. To say that he was exposed would have been an enormous understatement; the outskirts of Nuenen were right up ahead, less than half a kilometer away. Any remotely decent gunman would be able to pick him off like a fly.

"Get back," Winters was shouting down the wireless, dismay tinging the command, "Drop back!"

"I don't know," Harry ground out meanwhile, already unslinging his weapon, "He's mistaken this place for a goddamn parade ground?"

They never heard the shot, but they certainly heard the resulting mayhem. Alarmed shouts went up along the line, scores of troopers scrambling off the vehicles in an attempt to find cover. "_Fuck_!" Welsh exclaimed, ducking back behind the Cromwell they had been on only seconds ago, "Brewer's down!"

Eleanor, seeing muzzle flashes in the windows of the buildings nearby, had her hand on her own gun. "Contact right!"

"Enemy tank on our eleven," Nixon added even as the Brits swung their turrets around, "Anybody got eyes on first platoon?"

"Moving to the ditches," Eleanor replied, hearing a distant call for a medic. She peeked over the side of the tank just in time to see one of the medics - Davis, most likely - get shot and, undoing the latches on her bag, hastily fished out a bandage and a tourniquet, draping the latter around her neck for the time being. Beside her, Winters put down the radio and turned to his executive officer.

"Harry, head for the town!" he ordered, pounding the iron armor of the Cromwell to gain the attention of the driver, "Tanks up front!"

Eleanor meanwhile was ready to run to the front and help out where she could. She was about to dash off when Winters, expression worried, seized her by the arm. "What are you doing?"

"My job," she answered curtly, trying to shake herself free from his grasp. His face tightened.

"Eleanor-"

"MEDIC!"

_Damn it, there's no time to waste._ "Davis just got shot and Roe and Spina are already out on the line," she told him firmly, hand grasping his for the briefest of moments, "Let me go." He did so reluctantly, his eyes burning into her back as she rushed off to help. She was in too much of a hurry to even fully register his concern, dashing past the tanks and heading towards the wounded men; she skidded to a halt besides them, clapping the replacement who had bravely jumped in to save their lives on the shoulder. She couldn't even remember his name, she realized contritely.

"You, help me move them," she ordered him sharply, fingers replacing his over Brewer's neck wound as the tanks loomed ever closer; at least the enemy had stopped shooting at them for the time being, no doubt preoccupied by the troopers deploying into the village. With the private's help, she dragged the two victims to the side of the road to clear the track and let the Cromwells pass, returning to administer first aid straightaway as soon as they had. _Right, what have we got... one neck wounded, probably non-arterial but bleeding badly, and one bullet to the leg. Can't tell what's going on there._

Ducking her head, Eleanor grabbed the tourniquet from around her neck and handed it to the replacement working on Davis along with the bandage she'd been holding. "Take this, tie it off, then put pressure on the wound. Can you do that for me?"

The replacement, though more than a little spooked, nodded compliantly. "Yes ma'am. Hold on, buddy..."

"Okay," Eleanor breathed, glad the kid was keeping his wits about him and bending down to take a closer look at the damage done to Brewer's neck. "Hey, lieutenant," she said, pressing a bloody hand against his shoulder to keep him still when he struggled to get away from her, "Look at me- easy, Bob, look at me-" He calmed somewhat, allowing her to examine the wound properly. _Okay, no arterial damage by the looks of it. How that's even possible, I don't know, but thank everything holy it missed the vital parts_. _That's one. _"How are you doing, private?"

"It won't stop bleeding!"

"Tighten the tourniquet, do it now," she told him quickly, cursing under her breath as Brewer began to squirm again. "Hey, hey, you're going to be all right," she soothed, swatting his hand away as he reached toward his neck, "You're okay. Just stay still." She glanced over at Davis. "Can you tell me what color the blood is?"

"Err-" the kid stammered, "Red?"

"Crimson, cardinal, scarlet, vermilion?" she rattled off, fishing another bandage and a packet of sulfa out of her bag, "Devil in the details, trooper. Is it dark or light?" _If it's the latter, it's arterial, and we're screwed..._

"Dark, I think?" he hazarded a guess, and she breathed a sigh of relief, "Like a- sorta maroon?"

"Good," she said, removing her hand from Brewer's neck long enough to sprinkle the antiseptic powder over it, "Do you have any sulpha on you?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Okay, what I need you to do is to put that on before reapplying pressure, then wrap it up tight and get him to the rear," she instructed, seeing stretcher bearers running down the ditch towards them. "Got that?"

"Got it!" the replacement asserted, already tearing open his first aid kit while Eleanor lifted Brewer's head and wrapped up his neck with nimble fingers. A sudden blast from the village had both of them hunkering down on instinct; Eleanor looked up just in time to see one of the British tanks go up in flames as gunfire erupted around it. Jabbing a syringe of morphine into the indent between Brewer's neck and shoulder, she listened carefully to the sounds coming from the village, identifying the various weapons and storing the information for later. She didn't like what she was hearing; the roar of the German guns was far too heavy, the unmistakable din of buildings and tanks alike being blown to bits all too pervasive. Even if she couldn't see what was going on, it wasn't hard to tell the assault wasn't going well for their side.

The stretcher bearers made it to her position, crouching low just in case some German took it upon themselves to target them. "Ma'am, Captain Winters told us to help you."

"Yeah," she nodded, supporting the young lieutenant's head as she prepared to move him onto the canvas, "Help me get him up. Careful, careful..."

They moved back towards the rear quickly, finding Nixon standing besides an aid jeep, binoculars in hand as he observed the raging battle up ahead. "British armored is getting their asses handed to them," Eleanor told him tersely, scrabbling Brewer's details onto an emergency tag, "Sounds like mortars and MGs along with a bunch of Tigers."

Nixon clenched his jaw as he caught her eyes and registered she was by no means exaggerating. "Jesus Christ."

"All right, up we go," she pressed on, tying the tag to Brewer's jacket and gesturing for the medics to hoist him up onto the waiting jeep. The vehicle took off within seconds, hastening its casualty to safety, but Eleanor barely had the time to breathe before the replacement appeared with Davis.

"How are we doing?" she asked, checking the bandages to make sure they were done properly. Davis - surprisingly lucid - grinned up at her with half a grimace.

"Hurts like hell, ma'am."

"I bet," she agreed, kneeling down to squeeze his arm briefly before checking his pulse. It was steady enough, definitely better than she had expected, and she tossed a syrette at the already invaluable replacement. "Here, give this to him," she directed, writing up another tag so the doctors at the aid station would know what they were dealing with, "Opposite leg."

Behind her, the din of the skirmish persisted, but there was now a new sound added into the mix that was coming up from the other side. _Trucks_, she realized, watching as half a dozen or so deuce-and-a-halfs drove their way, _they're expecting a retreat_.

"Captain Fairfax!"

She glanced over at the replacement, keenly mindful she still had no idea what he was called. Her name was shouted again._ He will have to wait._ "You got this?"

"Yes ma'am," he nodded, much more confident than before, and she smiled at him quickly before straightening out to see who had been calling for her. Gene Roe and David Webster were approaching her slowly, another trooper dragged between them across the asphalt. Digging through her pack once more, Eleanor trotted over to them and motioned for them to put the wounded man down.

"Who've you got?"

"Van Klinken," Roe answered, kneeling alongside her, "Got hit by MG fire."

_Hit in several places on his chest, bleeding profusely_, she added mentally, noting how the bandages were soaked through already. Combined with the private's utter stillness, that didn't bode too well.

"Damn it," she said quietly, pressing stained fingers against the man's neck. Van Klinken was a veteran, a Toccoa man who had made it through the whole of Normandy unscathed, and here he was - bleeding to death on a lonely Dutch road. There was no justice in any of it. "Was he conscious at any point?"

Roe shook his head, seemingly having come to much the same conclusion she was steadily coming to herself. "No."

There was no pulse. Eleanor sighed and ran the back of her hand across her forehead wearily. "He's gone."

"What?" Webster startled, the blood-stained hands he had clenched around his weapon lowering uselessly, "But-"

"Nothing we can do here, Web," Eleanor said sadly, constantly reminding herself that she needed to move on, that there were more men in need of her help who might still make it, that she couldn't linger on it- but seeing the utter devastation in Webster's pretty eyes, it was hard not to give in to despair. "I'm sorry."

"MEDIC!"

"You need me here?" Roe asked, lips pressed together tightly and bounding off the moment she told him she didn't. Tapping Webster on the helmet lightly to snap him out of his daze, Eleanor waited until she was certain he wasn't going catatonic and could make it to the trucks by himself before returning to the front of the column. She could see now that the company had begun to withdraw from Nuenen, as had the British tanks, and that with it had come a shift in the concentration of the German fire; bullets whizzed past her head as she dodged from truck to truck, taking cover where she could until she found Nixon pressed against the one furthest out.

"How are we doing?" she asked, hunching down next to him as the first men neared the motorcade.

"Guarnere and Compton are retreating," Nixon told her curtly, and Eleanor frowned as she realized those two only accounted for a small part of the unit.

"Where the hell is Peacock?"

"Christ knows."

Somewhere nearby, she could hear Luz shouting down the radio, panic resonating even over the wire. "We have infantry everywhere, repeat, armor has cut the road! We are covered in infantry, we're pulling back!" Eleanor flinched, catching sight of the bloodied troopers running through the ditches.

"Nix, we gotta get out of here."

"Who do you think told the trucks to hurry the hell up and get here?" he asked, eyes darting around the vicinity as though he were looking for someone. "You seen Dick?"

"No. Any word on how many casualties we're looking at?"

"Nada," he responded, recoiling from the truck when a bullet pinged off its metal plating, "Jesus Christ-"

Eleanor pulled him back and out of harm's way, shooting him a withering glare. "Keep your head down, you idiot," she chastised, fear making the remark sharper than intended, her heart thumping in her throat. _That was far too close._ The first of the men were now rushing by and making straight for the trucks, barely sparing the two officers a glance as they hastened to get to safety. Eleanor breathed in deeply.

"Here we go."

The urgency of the retreat was soon becoming palpable. Men were running past left and right, their NCOs shouting at them to get a move on, to hurry up and get the hell out of there. Standing in the midst of it all, Eleanor had counted at least half a dozen wounded and two killed, but that number seemed to be rising as rapidly as the company was retreating. She darted between troopers as they passed her by, checking wounds and prioritizing casualties, outwardly calm but silently seething. They should have known about this, should have been aware that the Germans were regrouping and sent more than a single unit to meet them accordingly. It pissed her off to know that good men were dying - _had_ died, in fact - when a proper recon mission could have probably prevented them from running into an ambush like this. This wasn't a calculated risk. This was, as she had said to Nixon earlier that day, thoughtlessly poking at the enemy with a proverbial stick to see if they would react- only to realize the stick was too short and the enemy a lot more substantial in numbers than anticipated.

"Hey, Ellie!"

She patted a spooked but generally fine Babe Heffron on the back and whirled around to turn toward the person who had called for her. "Yeah?"

It was Ralph Spina, supporting a pale-faced Chuck Grant as they limped back in the direction of the trucks. Grant didn't look too good; blood oozed down his head from a nasty cut on his temple and stained the side of his field jacket and trousers, originating from what seemed to be shrapnel wounds. Spina was all but carrying him. "Need a hand here," the otherwise jovial medic said grimly, and Eleanor didn't hesitate for a moment to help him out.

"I got him, I got him," she reassured her friend quickly, ducking underneath the sergeant's arm and slinging it around her shoulders. Up close, Grant appeared even less well than he had from a distance. "Jesus, Chuck, what happened to you?"

"Mortar hit the building," he answered hazily, staring at her as though he had only just registered she was even there. Spina snorted.

"The building hit him," he deadpanned, sharing a concerned look with Eleanor, "Business end of grenade, too."

Grant was nodding dazedly. "And maybe a grenade too."

_He's disoriented. Not good._ "Did you lose consciousness at any point?" she asked, becoming increasingly worried by his confusion. Head wounds and concussions could take a turn for the worse pretty darn quickly; she hoped Grant wouldn't turn out to be one of those cases.

"I don't-" long eyelashes fluttered, once, twice, before he shook his head vaguely. "I don't know."

"Guarnere said he did," Spina offered, and Eleanor wondered briefly where the medic's fellow Philadelphian had gotten to. Last she had heard, he had been retreating along with the rest of second platoon. Another cry for a medic went up nearby; Spina fidgeted anxiously. "Listen, Cap, if you're okay to take him-"

"Go," she told him, adjusting her hold on Grant so Spina could slip away and look after the other wounded. _There's too many of them and not enough of us_, she thought bleakly, _especially now that Davis got shot._ To make matters worse, her own patient was paling even further. She nudged him cautiously to regain his attention. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," he swallowed, "I-"

He buckled without warning, the two of them toppling precariously for a moment as Eleanor fought to maintain her balance. "Whoa, hey, steady!" she said, shifting his limp body against her side. He was breathing heavily, shallowly, her concern growing further as she wrestled a hand free. "You feeling dizzy?"

"Y-yeah."

"Yeah, that's what I thought," she breathed, fingers brushing his clammy brow before grasping the arm around her neck again. The diagnosis was as unwanted as it was expected, and not at all a promising sign.

"You two okay?" someone asked gruffly, and Eleanor had never before been so happy to see Joe Toye appear at her side. _Talk about good timing..._

"Actually, can you help me get him into the deuce?" she requested gratefully, breathing out in relief when he slung a strong arm around Grant and took over most of the man's weight. Together they managed to reach one of the waiting trucks, Pat Christenson reaching down to help hoist their wounded comrade on board the instant they arrived at the tailgate.

"Okay, down you go," Eleanor murmured, gently lowering the bloodied head onto the wooden floor, "Easy does it." She looked the other men over swiftly, wordlessly searching for any sign of injury; at first glance at least they seemed to be all right. Shaken, certainly, but otherwise unharmed. "Anyone else hurt?" she asked, just to double check, glad when they all assured her they were fine.

If only the same could be said for Grant. Looking down, she noticed his eyes fluttering - nearly closing - as he threatened to slip into unconsciousness. _Oh no, you don't._ She patted his cheek insistently. "Stay awake on me, Chuck," she encouraged, fingers finding the pulse point on his wrist and measuring the beats as he stirred back into alertness. Rapid heartbeat. Damn it.

"Flashlight," she called, holding up her hand expectantly, "Somebody get me a flashlight."

Bill Kiehn was quick to comply, digging one up from his pack and handing it to her with a worried frown as Julian looked on besides them, his brown eyes wide.

"What's wrong with him?" the kid asked Eleanor, sounding every bit as young as he was. She shot him a brief smile in a haphazard attempt at reassurance, tapping the flashlight against her hand when it refused to work.

"Shock, probably," she explained, "Head wounds bleed like hell." It took her another second to flick on the torch, the beam of light barely visible in the afternoon sun but bright enough that it served its purpose. Carefully peeling back Grant's eyelids with two of her fingers, she shone it at his pupils, watching their reaction and noting the size. Enlarged, sluggish to respond. _Step two..._ "All right, Chuck, follow my finger with your eyes," she said, making an H-sign in front of his face and quickly grabbing a hold of his head to keep it still when he moved it right along, "No, no, just your eyes- that's it, there you go."

Somewhere along the line he'd begun to shiver despite it being a pleasant late summer's day. _Definitely shock._ "Babe, put your jacket over his legs, keep him warm," she ordered, tossing the flashlight back at Kiehn and grabbing her canteen as Heffron did as he was told, "Good. Chris, could you get his jacket off and loosen his belt?"

The five men around her abruptly stopped moving, apparently stunned into silence by her candid request to strip their colleague down. "Oh, for the love of-" Eleanor exclaimed, annoyed by their hesitancy, "To improve his circulation, all right? I'm a trained field medic, do you honestly think there's even an inch of the male anatomy I _haven't_ seen?"

That seemed to do the trick. Christenson helped her take off the jacket, pack and shirt, allowing her to get a closer look at the shrapnel wounds in Grant's side; thankfully, they were shallow enough not to warrant immediate attention and she could focus on the laceration on his temple first. Using the water from her canteen and a bit of compressed cotton fluff, she washed away the worst of the blood, noting that the cut would need a few stitches once they got to the battalion aid station. For the time being, however, a bandage would have to suffice, and she was about to put one on him when he raised his head and looked at her.

"Water-" he croaked, "'m thirsty-"

Sighing quietly, she stroked a bit of blood-slick hair away from his forehead and wound the dressing around it. "I know, honey, but not yet," she soothed, well aware that giving him anything now would only make matters worse, "Later, all right? I promise."

"Captain Fairfax?"

Her head snapped up to find Lipton standing at the rear end of the truck, expression concerned. There were fewer troopers running past now, most of them already in the deuces and waiting to take off; it occurred to her that Lip, being first sergeant, was probably rounding up the last few and making sure they were ready to go. "You doing okay?" he asked, eyes automatically drawn toward the prone figure on the floor.

"We're good, Lip," she nodded, tying off the bandage on Grant's head even as the senior NCO went to tell the driver to take off. Soon they were on their way back to Tongelre, everyone's mood subdued and sporadic explosions still resounding from Nuenen. They were limping back to camp with their tails between their legs and they knew it; it was far from what anyone had wanted as an outcome to the day.

Grant was slipping again and Eleanor found herself grasping at ideas to keep him awake and alert - not to mention distracted, given that she was about to prod the shrapnel wounds and would likely end up causing him more pain in the process. Distantly, she remembered her own recent attempts to keep her mind off less pleasant things and decided it would be as good a strategy as any. "Hey, Chuck, you know any songs?"

Blue eyes squinted up at her in confusion. "S-songs?"

"Yeah, you know, to sing," she said, trying to keep her tone nonchalant, "I thought we could do with some music."

Julian, still a bit shaken by the earlier ambush, was about to protest - surely this was hardly the time or place - when Toye shot him a warning look, having been around long enough to understand what Eleanor was getting at. "Hey, come on, we all know I'm the crooner around here," he objected amiably, trying to lighten the mood. Babe scoffed.

"Yeah, well, you ain't Big Crosby, that's for damn sure."

That earned him a well-aimed smack around the side of his head. "Watch it, kid."

"If all you boys are gonna do is moan and complain about it, I'll think of one myself," Eleanor challenged, keeping her attention on Grant, "You gotta sing with me though, Chuck. All right?" She inhaled slowly, moistening a fresh piece of cotton to clean the oozing wounds on his side. _Thank God for smooth roads and other small mercies._ "Come Josephine in my flying machine, going up, she goes, up, she goes..." No response save a small chuckle from Christenson. She shook her head. "Come on, help me out here."

The lot of them joined in as she had hoped they would, Grant's slightly breathless voice mingling with Toye's rich baritone and her own smooth timbre as she exchanged glances with Joe and Pat, both of them subtly moving in to hold their fellow sergeant down. "Balance yourself like a bird on a beam, in the air, she goes, there she goes..."

"Good!" she praised, cleaning the wounds cautiously and gingerly removing the smaller pieces of debris where she could, "Up, up, a little bit higher..." Grant groaned in pain, writhing feebly against his friends' hold. Eleanor, heart aching, reached out to touch his cheek and comfort him. "Sh, sh, you're okay. It's all right."

"Jesus, Captain, can't you give him any morphine?" Heffron asked, disturbed by the obvious distress his colleague was in. Eleanor clenched her jaw- between the head wound and the issues with his breathing, morphine might be even worse than water at this point, as terrible as that was. So long as the pain was moderately bearable it would have to wait.

"Not yet," she said simply, "It's too dangerous." Having finished the temporary dressing of the wounds on his side, she dug through her bag and produced a bottle of plasma, passing it to Christenson as she looked for a vein in Grant's arm to put an IV into. Smoke continued to rise in the distance as she stared down at her copper-stained hands and softly resumed singing; it was all she could do in the end, despite her weariness, despite her exasperation. What choice did she have, in the end? _Keep calm and carry on. That's what I've always done, isn't it?_

"Come Josephine in my flying machine, going up, so long, goodbye..."

* * *

The withdrawal from Nuenen was a bitter one for all of them. They had initially halted only a kilometer or so outside of the town, arguably too close to the German lines, but then Eleanor had a sneaking suspicion that Dick hadn't fully retreated at first because he'd had some lingering hope that Bull Randleman - who had gone missing during the chaos of the attack - would have been able to catch up with them. The sergeant hadn't showed and eventually the company had pulled back to their old position at Tongelre for the night. She had never seen Johnny Martin look so forlorn as he did when they returned to the suburb, nor Webster as dejected. Cobb had been in tears. It was gut-wrenching to think that he might have finally made an effort at friendship only to see half of the too-young replacements killed off. In truth, all of the old guard were grim-faced and unusually quiet; the final tally of the afternoon had been four dead and eleven injured, many of those seriously, and it was a number none of them liked. What made matters worse was that two of the KIAs were from Bull's squad, something that did not bode well for him at all. No one would give up on him until a body had been found - of that she was certain - but it did not make the lack of news any easier to bear.

Checking on the wounded men at the battalion aid station, she remembered watching Smokey Gordon helping Alton More from the last of the tanks when they had stopped outside of Nuenen earlier. Neither were hurt but both had been dog-tired, still catching their breaths even after having been on the vehicles for a while, wide-eyed and apparently disbelieving that they had made it out at all. Gordon had taken off More's helmet and wrapped his hand around the other man's neck, pressing their grimy foreheads together briefly, both of them closing their eyes in relief. A little further down, she had spotted Heffron with his arm wrapped around Julian's shoulders, the two of them sitting close to Hashey and Garcia. Compared to before, there was something distinctly different about them now; their eyes seemed bigger, the skin around them tighter somehow, a visible sign of their lost innocence. It had been striking how similar the two scenes had been, regardless of the difference in experience between them; the replacements had held up admirably even when faced by a skirmish as vicious as the one they had witnessed that day. _No easier way to find out who are made of the right stuff than by putting them through combat_, she thought darkly, running a hand through her hair distractedly as she headed outside. The locals, too, seemed to have sensed that the tide had turned. There was no cheering now, no celebrations; the people were disappearing back into their homes, all signs of revelry removed and the orange that had been so prominent only hours before gone completely. It definitely didn't help the morale of the men any. At least she had some good news for them; Chuck Grant would be all right, if confined to a hospital for a while, and a convoy carrying supplies and Eleanor's team was headed their way that very moment. It was a minor victory in a day of defeats, but it was something.

Before she'd had the chance to share the information with the men, however, she noticed Nixon and Winters exiting the battalion headquarters further down the street. Neither of them seemed particularly happy; Dick looked downright irritated. She pondered going over to talk to them, to find out what was bothering him - well, besides the obvious, anyway - and perhaps to sort matters between them while they were at it, but Lew had already glimpsed her and was heading over her way.

"Ellie," he greeted, helmet dangling from his hand, "Command wants us to interrogate that prisoner Toye snatched earlier."

She sighed and nodded, gaze lingering on the men silhouetted against the setting sun, and followed Nixon to where the prisoner was being held. The questioning took just over a single frustrating hour, by the end of which they knew little more than what they had already known beforehand. One of the few things they got confirmed was that there were a hell of a lot of tanks hiding out behind Nuenen along with the 107th Panzerbrigade; estimations from the field had been around four dozen, when in reality there were fifty. _Well, we weren't far off._

When they finally reappeared from HQ, darkness was well on its way to falling and Eleanor was more than ready for some dinner and repose- but Nixon seemed once again determined to keep her from her plans. "Hey," he said, touching her on the arm, "Could I talk to you for a minute?"

"Yeah, Nix, what's up?" she asked, tilting her head to look at him. He took a deep breath.

"Have you spoken to Dick yet?" he inquired, sighing when she kept mum and looked the other way. "That's what I thought. What happened yesterday-"

"Oh, no," she protested, her temper flaring as she began to walk away; the whole debacle between her and Dick, drawn out and painful as it was, really wasn't any of his business. "Don't start."

"Ellie-"

"Don't even think about it," she snapped, whirling back toward him, shaking her head incredulously, "Did he _tell_ you to-"

"No!" he exclaimed, stalking after her, "Christ, Elle, I'm just trying to help here. You've been avoiding him for over a day now."

She exhaled sharply and slowed down. "I haven't-" _Things just got in the way… didn't they?_

"Yeah, you have," Lew insisted, expression softening with pity, "Think about it. When did you speak to him last?"

The answer to that was all too easy. "On the way to Nuenen."

"For all of two seconds," Nixon reminded her, shaking his head, "Just hear me out, would you?"

_Adulterer, heal thyself._ "Fine," she sighed, grimacing. _Not like I have an option here. He's as stubborn as I am._

"Thanks," Nixon drawled, moving to walk besides her, "What happened yesterday- it was fast, it was unexpected, and he didn't mean for it to happen. He feels like hell over it." He smiled then, that rare, genuine smile she had only ever seen him use around Dick and herself. "He adores you, Ellie, simple as that."

"Yeah, well, he's got a funny way of showing it."

Nixon groaned, growing annoyed. "Would you get off the high horse already? It was an honest mistake. It's not like he lied about his identity for half a year."

"That's not fair," she murmured, mildly hurt that he would bring up her past like that, but she knew he was right. She'd been too headstrong - too proud - to fully admit to what she had known all along: that she had overreacted and should have made more of an effort to talk to him and give him an opportunity to explain. It wasn't pleasant, but it was the truth. _God, but I'm an idiot._

"You're right, it isn't," Nixon nevertheless admitted, sighing, "I'm sorry." Silence stretched on between them for a while, both lost in their own thoughts until they turned a corner and could see Easy's foxholes up ahead. Eleanor hadn't even realized they had been headed that way.

"Look," Lew continued, "I'm really no good at these kind of things, but just talk to him, all right? You know how he is. Always in control, always composed, always so damn certain of himself. You're the only thing I know of - the only _person_ - that makes him anything less than that."

"So what, you're saying that he demeans himself by being involved with me?" she demanded, appalled, unable to stop the deep-rooted fear that he deserved better from resurfacing, "That I- that I _compromise_ him somehow?"

"Of course not," Nixon appeased, his smile turning wry, "Stop twisting my words, woman. What I'm saying is that he cares so much about you it scares him sometimes, and right now he's as terrified as I've ever seen him." He nudged his shoulder into hers affably. "You gotta to talk to him, Ellie, because I don't know-"

"Shh," she ordered him unexpectedly, holding up her hand. There was something in the air- something moving in their direction.

"Now what?"

"D'you hear that?" she asked, shielding her eyes to search the twilight sky.

"Hear what?" Nixon asked, confused, but his voice was already drowned out by the German planes that roared overhead. He swore loudly.

"Planes," Eleanor confirmed grimly, watching the aircrafts hurtle towards the city, "Come on."

They jogged the last few meters to the foxholes, arriving to find Dick leaning against one of the trucks and the horizon drowning in flames. It was awesome to behold, in the very literal sense of the word; Eleanor clapped a hand over her mouth in dismay, thinking of the many civilians that would be stuck among the destruction. _The kid that tagged along with Hoobs for the longest time. The girls with the flowers in their hair, wearing their Sunday best. The grandparents who kissed the soldiers' cheeks with tears in their eyes. Dear God, it's like the Blitz all over again._

"They're bombing Eindhoven," Winters commented needlessly, glancing over at the duo approaching him.

"Yeah," Nixon agreed bleakly, "Won't be waving so many orange flags at us tomorrow."

Another person approached their little group. "Dick, Nix," Welsh addressed the men, jerking his head to the side briefly as though to indicate he wanted to talk to them in private. Eleanor raised her eyebrows, not about to be left out of the loop.

"What is it, Harry?"

"Nothing, beautiful," he said, but the smile he offered her was strained._ Like I'm going to buy that..._

"Harry, you'd better tell me, or so help me-"

He pressed his lips together, troubled. "The British supply convoy that was supposed to be headed our way never made it out of Eindhoven," he relayed, wincing when he saw Eleanor's eyes widen in shock, "They're stuck there."

She wavered, feeling suddenly light-headed, the full extent of what he was implying making the world spin and nausea pool in her stomach. _They're stuck there. My girls are stuck in the midst of an enemy bombing._ "I've got to-" she gasped, staggering away from the small group, "I've got to get to them-"

"No, no, no," Dick protested, catching her around the waist easily and steadying her even as she struggled to get away, "Ellie, you can't- you'll get killed-"

"Let me go," she begged for the second time that day, "My team is-" A particularly heavy explosion lit up the sky and rocked the ground even as far away as they were standing, making her whimper quietly in despair. Winters turned her away from the horrific view and pulled her against his chest, wrapping her in his arms and simply holding on. Air raid sirens resounded through her mind, echoes of long ago memories drowned out only by the steady beat of Dick's heart against her cheek. She burrowed her face into his shoulder and closed her eyes.

_Oh no._

* * *

**Et voila, the second half of what was originally meant to be a single chapter. I'm kind of glad I split them up, even if I'm still not a hundred percent happy with them! Oh well. A huge thank you as always to those of you who reviewed; your messages never cease to make my day. **

**As an aside, I am by no means a medical expert and do not pretend to be - everything in this chapter pertaining to first aid is based on my own research and might very well be wrong. I hope any errors aren't too glaring to those of you who **_**do**_** know their stuff!**

**Please read & review :)**


	28. I'll Get By

**Disclaimer: this story is based chiefly on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.**

* * *

By the time the German planes had disappeared into the inky black of the night sky and Eleanor had managed to commandeer a jeep to rush back to Eindhoven, the city was in ruins. The bare skeletons of what had once been buildings - empty structures that had until recently been people's homes - stood out starkly against the bright flames of the fires that spread throughout the streets, dust mingling with smoke as the wind swept past the wreckage. It was devastation at its darkest, the pungent smell of death cloying the air and despair seeping surreptitiously into the very bones of anyone who dared enter the shattered town. To Eleanor, it was a painfully vivid echo of the bombings that had started the war for her, a surreal reflection of events many years ago come back to haunt her even though she was miles away; for brief, flickering moments, it was almost as if she were back in London and no time whatsoever had passed.

Heart beating wildly in her chest, she drove until she could go no further, jumping out of the vehicle and running the rest of the way when the road became too obstructed by debris to continue. Civilians stumbled past her at every turn, bloodied and crying, some clutching at her wretchedly while others seemed too dazed to even notice her there. She searched the crowd for any sign of familiar faces, guilt twisting her insides whenever she abandoned a stranger in need or pushed by another unknown victim. There were too many of them - too many for her to stop and help, too many for there to be any hope of assisting them unless she got to a hospital or central command point. The chaos was too profound to merely jump into the midst of the melee and gain any kind of overview. She _had_ to find her team.

"Captain Fairfax?"

She whirled around at the sound of her name, seeing one of the Dutch soldiers attached to the Jedburgh unit approach her, eyes wild. "What are you doing here?" he asked, grabbing onto her forearms, "I thought you were with the 506th-"

"I was," she confirmed, trying to get the anxious man to focus on what she was saying, "Where-"

An explosion resounded somewhere in the distance; his gaze darted towards the noise. "There's people stuck under the rubble-" he stammered distractedly, seeming utterly lost and unsure of what to do. She tightened her hold on his coat.

"I know," she said, "I _know_. We'll get them out of there, all right?"

The Dutchman nodded, breathing out forcefully. "Yeah."

"Can you tell me where the British supply convoy is?"

"So far as I know they were two streets from the town square," he frowned, "Eleanor, do you think-"

"I don't know," she said, unsure of what he was going to say but dead certain she wouldn't know the answer to it. She had no idea about anything at this point, and she needed to get moving. "I'm sorry." With one last squeeze to his arms, she set off again, this time towards the old marketplace.

Street by derelict street, house by collapsed house, she searched the area systematically. With every passing minute she grew more afraid of what might have happened, hopelessness threatening to overwhelm her. Then, at the end of the fourth - or was it the fifth? - street, she finally spotted a well-known figure.

"Ev," she breathed, running towards the nurse who, as she now could see, was carrying a bawling child in her arms, "Evelyn!"

Tears of sheer relief sprung into the younger woman's eyes at seeing her CO. "You're here," she whimpered, clutching the little boy closer, "I- you're here-"

"Where are the others?" Eleanor asked, automatically checking her over for any sign of injuries. Besides a few scrapes and a lot of dirt, she seemed blessedly unhurt, if incredibly shaken up.

"They're back over-" she faltered, half-turning hesitantly before facing Eleanor again, "They sent me to find help, no one would help us-"

Moving on to the child, Eleanor was glad to find he wasn't injured either and definitely appeared to have a healthy set of lungs on him. Yet something still nagged at the back of her mind, something simply wasn't adding up... _there's blood on her jacket, but if it isn't hers and it isn't the child's-_ "Who's hurt?" she pressed, clasping Evelyn's shoulder when she didn't respond, "Ev, who's hurt?" The girl shuddered.

"Gale, and Meg's missing-"

Eleanor's heart sank. "Missing?"

"They were trying to get to a- a family, get them to safety, but then the bomb hit-"

_Oh Jesus_. "All right, listen to me," the captain implored, not letting go of her friend, "There's a triage area down that-a-way. Get him over there and bring back who ever and whatever you can find. Okay?"

"Okay," Evelyn repeated, regaining some of her composure along with a new-found sense of determination, "Okay."

"Go," Eleanor urged, waiting until Evelyn had left before running down the way she had indicated earlier. What she found devastated her.

In front of what was left of what must have once been an impressive apartment building, Anne and Betty were tending to a badly wounded and heavily bleeding Gale. Not far from them were the bodies of a deceased woman and child - mother and daughter, by the looks of them - with a second child sitting by their side, alive but crying desolately. The rest of Eleanor's team were digging through the rubble not far away, tears leaving streaks on their dusty faces, their hands torn from their frantic search. It was the stuff of nightmares, and yet here she was, living right through it. Again.

Betty was the first to perceive her. "Eleanor!" she choked, her composure giving way momentarily; cries of relief went up from around the group as the woman in question hurried towards them and fell to her knees next to Anne.

"How's she doing?"

"Barely breathing," Anne said despondently, tilting her friend's head back and grabbing her arms to administer CPR, "Come _on_..."

"Morphine?" Eleanor asked, taking over pressure on a compound fracture in Gale's thigh as her eyes met Betty's across from her.

"One syrette," her second reported, faltering slightly, "Captain, Meg's-"

"I know," Eleanor said, "Keep going."

It seemed to take forever for help to arrive. All the girls could do was to keep going - to keep digging, to keep Gale alive - until, at last, a handful of British troops arrived and came to their aid. A number of the enlisted men merely stood and stared upon their arrival, initially too shocked to move. "Mother of God..." one of them muttered, pressing a hand to his forehead in sheer horror. Their superiors barked directions at them and soon they were on the move, climbing up the ruins to help shift the debris aside, gently trying to convince the girls that they could stop digging. None of them would.

"Captain," the most senior of the officers addressed Eleanor, walking up towards her, "We heard you needed help."

She rose to shaky feet when she was certain Betty and Anne were all right to look after Gale for the time being, unconsciously wiping her blood-stained hands on her trousers. "One of my team and a number of civilians are somewhere underneath there," she said, pointing at the remnants of the collapsed house, "We can't get to them."

The officer - not one she knew, but she couldn't care less at that point - nodded grimly. "My chaps will do what they can," he promised, hands on his hips, "You ought to get to the hospital."

Eleanor blinked._ What about Meg?_ "We can't just leave-" she protested, aghast, but the Brit cut her off with unyielding common sense.

"There's nothing you can do here," he said patiently, mindful that the American woman probably wasn't in the most stable state of minds, "We'll get your girl to a medical facility when we find her, but until then, there's no use in you staying here."

"Yeah," Eleanor whispered, following his gaze to where Gale - slipping ever deeper into oblivion - was lying between Anne and Betty, the both of them still caring for her frantically. They needed to get her out of there, there was no doubt about that. "Yeah, all right-could you-"

"Of course," the officer said kindly, waving two of his men over, "Boys, give the captain a hand, would you?"

"Yes sir."

They lifted the nurse onto one of the stretchers they had brought with them, her body limp as a rag doll, and Eleanor turned - agonized - towards the wreckage. "Girls!" she called, silently sorrowed by the way they responded to her voice even after everything that had happened, "Girls, come on, we've gotta go."

Slowly, they clambered down the stone remains, coming with her despite having refused to leave only minutes before. Together they made for the nearest hospital, finding the place in shambles and stepping in to help without a second thought. None of them ever once complained about their own exhaustion or torn up hands.

* * *

It wasn't long after Gale had been stabilized and evacuated to one of the aid stations further down the line that Margaret was found at last, her broken body hidden underneath layers worth of rubble and curled protectively around that of a young child. Neither she nor the toddler in her arms had survived the blast; it seemed likely they had died instantaneously. Her death was another devastating blow in a night filled with tragedy, but Eleanor and her team had little time to mourn the loss when the news reached them. The hospital they had rushed to assist was overflowing with casualties, civilians and a small percentage of soldiers alike, all of them pleading for help and whatever comfort they could be offered on that dark September morning. Chaos reigned and people were dying - it had been a call to duty if ever there was one for the trained nurses, and so they stuck around and worked until the sun was starting to rise and shone through the settling dust; then, and only then, did they give in to the demands that they rejoin their regiment and rest. They probably wouldn't have lasted much longer anyway.

Eleanor bundled them into the jeep she had arrived by, somehow managing to fit eight grown women into the standard issue car, and drove them - silent, dejected, sorrowful - back to Tongelre. She headed for Easy Company's position on purpose, knowing how close the men had gotten with her unit and how anxious some of them had been about their welfare even before Eindhoven had been bombed. They would be glad to see the majority of the girls were all right and were the most likely to provide any kind of solace to them, and so she parked the jeep meters away from the company CP before she killed the engine. Sure enough, there were troopers crowding the vehicle within minutes of their arrival, helping the girls down with worried frowns and soft-spoken questions. It would never cease to amaze Eleanor how the battle hardened and generally filthy mouthed men would soften around her team, adjusting their mannerisms and use of language whenever the girls were near. Though it undoubtedly had something to do with their change in behavior, she expected there was more to it than the fact that all of them were officers; in many ways, their presence seemed to keep the men sane and allowed them to maintain a level of gentility that the military often didn't allow for, to preserve some small part of what they had been like before the war. It was a blessing and a curse, in all truth, but at that very moment she could not help but be glad for their kindness.

"Betty," she heard someone call, recognizing the raspy voice as Joe Toye's well before she spotted him pushing through the crowd, "Betty!" At her side, her second-in-command caught her breath and straightened out unconsciously, looking for her soldier.

"Joe," she cried back, searching the rapidly accumulating throngs of people until she had found him and could throw herself into his arms. He caught her easily, holding her tightly and pressing his face into her hair, closing his eyes in utter relief at seeing her alive.

"Thank God you're all right-" he murmured, pressing a kiss against the side of her head and breathing out slowly, "Thank God-"

Eleanor watched them from a distance, touched but unable to smile, moved yet unable to weep. Nearby Maria flung herself at Luz with equal fervor, sobbing quietly, their shared experience in Normandy having brought them closer together; a little further away, Joe Liebgott was fussing over Anne in the brusque way so typical of him and Talbert was making a tentative attempt at talking to Nancy. She knew then that she had made the right decision in coming there, seeing all the closest sets of friends drifting towards each other on instinct, some embracing, others conversing in hushed tones as they tried to come to terms with what had happened. For her part, the old familiar numbness was back with a vengeance, part of her mind simply shutting down as the pain became too much._ Another friend dead. A second wounded gravely, her fate still in limbo. What did they ever do to deserve such a fate?_

A large hand fell onto her shoulder and she turned to find Moe Alley standing behind her, dark eyes looking down at her compassionately until he noticed the blood that stained her uniform and they widened in alarm. "Please tell me that isn't yours," he said warily, wincing when all he received in reply was an empty stare. "Aw, shit, Ellie, I'm sorry," he apologized, "That didn't come out right-"

"It isn't mine," she said dully, barely even aware of several others joining them until a hand holding a canteen appeared in front of her from out of the blue. It was Christenson's, the cap of it jingling as he urged her to take it.

"Here," he insisted, waiting patiently until she complied and slowly sipped the liquid, letting it run down her admittedly parched throat. Skinny Sisk, standing next to Pat, folded his arms and observed her closely for a moment.

"Who's hurt, ma'am?"

"Gale," she replied, handing the flask back to Christenson, "Meg's dead."

"Fuck," Ramirez swore, shaking his head, grief flitting across his features. He'd been fond of Meg, as had they all; she'd been one of those people that were hard to dislike, even if she did exasperate them from time to time. Eleanor, remembering that her unit hadn't been the only one to sustain casualties recently, glanced between the four men.

"What's the word on Randleman?"

"He's alive," Ramirez sighed, scratching the back of his neck distractedly, "Made it back here earlier."

"Doc's patching him up at the moment," Sisk added, inclining his head towards one of the buildings closer to the line. The nurse among them bit her lip.

"I should go check on him-"

Sounds of protest arose immediately from the men. "Whoa, hey," Alley objected, stepping in front of her when she was on the verge of heading towards the aid station, "You don't need to do that."

"Gene can take care of Bull, Ellie," Christenson agreed, rubbing her arm gently, "You should rest. All right?"

She was too exhausted to even contemplate putting up a fight. "Right," she echoed, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes, "Excuse me, fellas."

Thankfully for her, they didn't complain when she wandered off towards the outlying houses, not quite sure where she was going. She didn't particularly care either; now that her girls were being looked after, all she really wanted was to get away. The buzz of the crowd slowly faded as she walked further and further off until suddenly, a high-pitched squeal somewhere nearby had her jumping in alarm. Turning sideways, she found herself looking into a family's kitchen through a half-opened window, its curtains haphazardly pulled aside, its inhabitants sat around a table for an early breakfast. There were several children - some running about, others pulling at each other's hair, one little girl sat on a chair and stubbornly stopping her ears as she read from a storybook - and a harassed looking woman who Eleanor assumed was their mother, the latter trying to regain some semblance of control over the mayhem. The whole scenario was so ordinary, so _normal_, that Eleanor thought that she was imagining things for a moment.

_It looks like they're getting ready for school_, the thought came absentmindedly, memories flooding her consciousness along with it. _But what about the children_, Margaret had asked when they had arrived at Saint Michael's, genuinely concerned over taking up the space usually reserved for the local school, _we can't just occupy their classrooms!_ Eleanor pressed her eyes shut, breath quickening as she fought the sharp onslaught of tears. _She was found with a child in her arms_, the British officer's polished voice resonated in her mind, _we're very sorry. We suspect they both died upon impact._

Stumbling away from the house, Eleanor found refuge at the back of a neighboring barn, clasping a shaking hand over her mouth to stifle the sounds of her own grief. _Meg always did love children_, she thought forlornly, pressing her forehead against the wooden panels, _but she'll never have any of her own now_. It was too much. She slid down the wall and curled in on herself, crying quietly until there were no more tears left to shed. Three gone out of a team of twelve. It was impossible not to despair at the odds of this dreadful war ever ending or any of them making it that far even if it did.

_We're never going home again, are we?_

* * *

It took Dick Winters a good long while to locate Eleanor after she had returned to Tongelre. He had heard what had happened, of course; more than a few of his men had taken it upon themselves to tell him and none too subtly hint that he go find her while they were at it. It had been gratifying to observe that the majority of the company had taken to tending to the exhausted nurses the moment they arrived, their roles reversed without warning but the measure of care never once diminished. Apparently some of the Toccoa had men had tried to talk to Eleanor only to find her unreceptive and her ability to disappear intact; no one had seen her since, and they were worried - as was Winters.

When he finally tracked her down she was curled up against the side of a barn at the very edge of second battalion's area, arms wrapped around her legs where they were drawn up to her chest, her chin resting on top of her knees. It was as though she had coiled in on herself by ways of a defense mechanism, the muscles in her back visibly tense even from a distance, blood staining her ODs and smudges of dirt streaked across her pale face. The watery light of the rising sun caught on the dull gold of her frazzled hair and glinted off red-rimmed, swollen eyes; it was obvious she had been crying. She looked shattered, defeated, and it broke his heart to see her thus.

"You're a hard woman to find," he greeted her quietly, smiling a little when she gazed up at him wearily.

"So I've been told," she sighed, tensing briefly when he sat down next to her and his leg brushed against hers. He wasn't quite sure what to say to her; things had been strained between them after what had happened in Eindhoven days before, something he still beat himself up over and regretted immensely. It was hard to accept that a single mistake might drive them apart, that a stupid, fleeting error in judgement might cost him the woman he had long ago realized he was deeply infatuated with - might, as he was rapidly beginning to suspect, in fact even be in love with. Placing a tentative hand on her back, he briefly feared he had erred again when she shivered underneath his touch, but then she leaned into him and his hope was renewed.

"Are you all right, sweetheart?" he murmured, the endearment falling off his lips with surprising ease. It wasn't something he was usually prone to; while he had quite happily grown used to her calling him darling, he wasn't one for sentimentality as a general rule. Judging by the way she tilted her head to look at him, she knew as much and was as surprised to hear him say as he had been to have said it.

"No," she whispered, swallowing thickly, "Not really."

He hadn't thought she was, not after what had happened, and he was about to extend his condolences when she lifted her gaze to stare at the horizon. "You know, sometimes-" she said, exhaling tremulously, despair hollowing her voice, "Sometimes I wonder if this will ever end. The fields of France are still littered with the shells from the last war. Hell, they might as well reuse some of the old trenches." Pained eyes turned to him for an answer. "What if it never stops?"

"All wars have to end someday," Winters soothed, still confident in their command's ability to win the day and gain the eventual victory. They had to know what they were doing, surely. As much as he sympathized with Eleanor's doubts - after what she'd been through, they were entirely understandable - he had seen firsthand what the Allies were capable of on D-Day and had to believe that their combined strength could get them through this. "And we will end this one."

Eleanor scoffed dubiously. "But then only the dead have truly seen the end of war, if Plato is to be believed," she mused gloomily, and he marveled quietly at her citing the classics at a time like this. It was a testament to a traditionally trained mind if ever he'd seen one. The hand that rested on her spine never wavered.

"I never liked Plato," he remarked lightly, attempting to cheer her and relieved to see her smile faintly at his easy dismissal of the Greek philosopher.

"Neither did I," she agreed, shaking her head, but the smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. "Then I think maybe it's just me."

"What do you mean?" he frowned, wary of her self-condemnation. She got like this sometimes, seeming to find it easier to blame herself rather than the circumstances that shaped them all. Flawed as she was, he thought the world of her, and he had never once agreed with her unnecessarily harsh judgments in moments like these.

"I don't know if I can do this anymore," she admitted plaintively, fidgeting with a bit of dirt that had crusted onto her trousers, "I'm so _tired_. Did you know I'm turning twenty-four soon?"

He nodded, remembering the information from what felt like a lifetime ago when the two of them had curled up in an Aldbourne meadow and her dog tags had slipped from beneath her blouse. The metal ID had caught his eye as she had dozed in the warmth of the sunlight, the shock of finding out just how young she was mitigated only by how peaceful she had looked asleep in his arms. Watching her now, sorrowful and drained, it hurt to remember her as she had been then; she deserved so much more than this war-torn existence.

"That means it will have been five years, Dick," she continued, "Five years of blood and secrets and grief, and all I have to show for it is a rank few take seriously and a team I can't even protect." She flinched, pressing her fingers against her eyes. "Maybe it's better if I just leave."

"You chose to stay before," he reminded her, willing the sudden flare of alarm he felt out of his voice. She couldn't really be thinking of leaving, could she?

"I did, and look where it's gotten us," she said bitterly, "At least the girls would be safe."

"And all their work for nothing?" he countered quickly - too quickly, really - his hand tightening in the fabric of her uniform without thinking. "Come on, Ellie, this isn't like you. What about the men?"

She chuckled humorlessly. "It's not like I'm doing them much good at the moment."

"Of course you are," he insisted, reaching out to touch her cheek and turn her face towards him. As badly as Market Garden was turning out to be going, little to none of it was her fault and his company relied on her far more than she was ever likely to accept; they had found in her a sanctuary of comfort and sisterly affection, someone who understood what they went through and would not think any less of them for succumbing to the strains of war from time to time. They depended on her friendship nearly as much as they depended on each other - to have her leave now would crush them.

His fingers caressed the arch of her cheekbone. "I know things aren't going well, but they'd be far worse if you weren't here. The men need you." Lowering his eyes along with his hand, he bit the inside of his cheek uneasily. The truth of it was that it wasn't just the men who depended on her; though he wasn't sure when it had happened exactly, somewhere along the lines it had become impossible for him to imagine life without her. As much as he feared for her safety and worried over her well being while out on the line, part of him wanted to hold her hand when no one else was looking, to see her smile at the men's antics, to discuss the day ahead with her over a cup of coffee in the morning. He wanted her near, within reach, by his side. He wanted her to stay.

"I need you," he concluded softly, looking up at her again, eyes imploring, "Please don't leave."

A smile broke out across her face, hesitantly at first but growing steadily. "Dick Winters, I think that's the most selfish I've ever seen you," she said to him, amusement mixing with tenderness. He felt his cheeks heat even as his heart sped up.

"Sorry," he smiled, ducking his head, fighting the urge to wince when he remembered something else he ought to be apologizing for. "And I'm sorry about-"

"No," she interrupted him gently, grimacing as she unwound her arms and stretched out her legs, "No, it's- I shouldn't have overreacted like that."

"You didn't," he insisted, taken aback that she would think such a thing when he had been the one to kiss another person. Perhaps they should have talked sooner, but matters going belly up before they had a chance to do so was hardly something either of them had intended to happen. "I wasn't-" he said, trying and failing to find the right words, "It happened so fast." She nodded, acknowledgment in her eyes and forgiveness in her smile, and he released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "I couldn't do this without you, Ellie."

"Sure you could."

"Maybe," he agreed, thinking back to those long hours of running up Currahee mountain before they had ever come to England, before he had even been aware she existed, but that had been another time, another life. Perhaps he could survive on his own, but he hoped he would never have to find out. If the choice were his, he certainly wouldn't. "I don't want to."

He pulled her close then, both of their eyes drifting shut as he kissed her, arms wrapping around her lovingly as she melted against him. "You must think me fickle, always pondering to leave," she whispered as they broke apart, their faces still very near to each other. He studied her features with adoring attention, noting the slight flush of her previously pale cheeks, the tiny dimples next to her mouth when she smiled, and though she would never know it, he too wondered at having found such a woman in the midst of a war.

"No," he said, letting her bury her face into the crook of his neck, "I think you're human, even if you don't always think so yourself." He pressed a kiss into her hair, humming contentedly. "And I'll gladly talk you out of leaving a thousand times over if I have to."

* * *

Every process of grief was different - this much Eleanor knew. When Katie had been killed in Normandy, her team had been at the end of their part in the Overlord campaign and had returned to England soon after. Going back to that haven of peace and tranquility had provided them with an opportunity to mourn her properly, to reflect and adjust and move on in their own time; not so after Meg had been killed. She had perished at a turning point in the operations in Holland, right at the very moment when contact had at last been made with the divisions up north and matters became progressively disastrous. The reports slowly trickling in - albeit in a round about way - were anything but positive: it was becoming clearer by the hour that their undertaking was doomed, and the whole of the Allied force seemed to be gearing up for defeat.

For the remaining nurses, this meant a decidedly steep increase in activity. Suddenly there were accounts to verify, messages to be decoded, incoming casualties to process; painful as their recent loss was, there was simply not enough time to dwell on it. They put it out of their minds and focused on the tasks at hand, spending what little time off they had with the men or amongst themselves, playing cards or preparing for whatever it was that would come next. It was a new way of being for the girls, a novel way of coping that was all too familiar to Eleanor but entirely alien to her team, yet somehow they managed well enough. Somehow, at least on a superficial level, they were all right.

_No small thanks to the boys. _In a stroke of luck, the men's workload had lessened just as the women's increased; besides regular guard duty, they had little to do but sit around and wait for orders. Their part in the operation had stagnated and their next mission would largely depend on both enemy movement and the success of the other outfits. Until something happened on either of those fronts, they were rangebound to Eindhoven and its fortifications, but that did mean that they had the time to look out for the girls and recover from the intensity of the engagement at Nuenen themselves. It was an unexpected blessing in disguise Eleanor was more than a little grateful for.

The early morning of September the twenty-second found her in the kitchen of the officer's billet, contemplating her earlier meeting with the resistance as she stirred her tea absentmindedly. Most people were still asleep; besides herself and a handful of the enlisted men, Dick was the only other person she had ran into upon her return to their lodgings. He had been on the verge of leaving so the two of them had stolen a kiss in one of the dark alcoves of the hallway before going their separate ways; now, leaning against the countertop with her hands wrapped around a mug to warm them, she wondered if he had any idea of the catastrophe that appeared to be looming over their heads. Indeed, she doubted any of the grade officers knew, let alone the NCOs or privates. Some might have a hunch - the veterans especially - but she doubted it went beyond that, not in the least because even the greater part of command seemed oblivious to how quickly things were spiraling out of control and into the abyss. _Well, won't be long now until they realize, _she thought sardonically, downing what was left of her drink, _only a matter of hours until we pass the point of no return on this one._

Her head snapped up as the door creaked open, a mildly rough looking Lew Nixon staggering in and depositing himself at the table without ceremony. Eleanor smiled. He was _definitely_ not a morning person. "Hey there, sunshine," she hailed him in a purposefully cheerful tone, chuckling softly when he groaned and dropped his head onto his folded arms. He'd had little sleep that past night, she knew that much, both because his job had kept him up and because he had decided he'd needed a drink after all of that. Ruffling his hair fondly, she ambled over to the stove and grabbed one of the pans hanging overhead.

"I've just come back from a meeting with the underground," she told him, filling the pot with water and fishing around the nearest drawer to find some matches, "They've been in touch with their colleagues up in Arnhem." Striking off one of the pieces of wood, she lit the stove and transferred the pan onto it, sighing when she turned back to Nixon. "Urquhart's losing territory by the second. They're not sure how long they can hang on for."

"They're going to have to," the intelligence officer mumbled, not bothering to raise his head, "Thirtieth Corps won't move another inch until all of the bridges are secured."

Eleanor bit her lip. The bridges linking the various divisions together should have been taken days ago - the fact that they hadn't didn't bode well for the Brits stuck in Arnhem. "How far have they gotten?"

"Last I heard, Gavin was making a run for the one at Nijmegen," Nixon commented, referring to the 82nd's young general, "Christ only knows where that'll get us."

Setting the cups she had retrieved down next to the fire, she ran a hand through her hair and exhaled slowly. Even just by the way Nix described it, it sounded like a desperate move. Unless they somehow managed to get the tanks across that bridge, chances were the 1st Airborne would be trapped in Arnhem. "Apparently over half of the British troops have been obliterated."

Nixon looked up at that, bleary eyes wide. "Jesus."

"Five-thousand men," Eleanor said softly. It was hard to accept or even fully grasp so many could have died in the span of a mere few days. "Maybe more."

"Yeah," Nixon grimaced, "Let's not even get into the Polish jump."

The Polish troopers had been dropped the day before amidst heavy German fire; rumor had it the casualties were severe. Eleanor shook her head. "Bloody mess, the lot of it," she said grimly, pushing herself up and away from the counter to join her friend at the table. Tilting her head to regard him, she gently brushed a lock of dark hair away from his forehead, revealing the slight burn mark left there by a bullet only days ago.

"You know, you still haven't told me how you got this," she reminded him lightly, perching on the edge of the table. He shrugged vaguely.

"I figured Dick already had."

"He has," she said, crossing her arms and quirking an eyebrow, not about to drop the matter, "I'd still like to hear it from you."

Nixon scowled up at her. "They shot at me, they missed," he groused, leaning back in his chair, "End of story."

Eleanor's expression softened, worry clouding her eyes. "You almost died, Lew."

"What are you, my counselor?"

"Counselor, confessor..." she said, patting him on the cheek affectionately before returning to the stove to tend to the now boiling water, "Whatever you need me to be."

He sighed. "I hate you sometimes."

"No you don't," she rebutted without heat, closing her eyes and inhaling the smell of the beverage brewing beneath her nostrils, "Coffee?"

"We're adding barista to the list now too, huh?" She threw a dish cloth at him playfully, shooting him a mock glare as he removed it from where it had landed against his chest. To her relief, he simply smiled. "Sure."

Pouring them a cup each, she handed him his and sat down across from him, studying her best friend closely for a few minutes. He'd been preoccupied since his recent brush with death and it was starting to worry her; with the preoccupation came an upswing in drinking, and God only knew he was doing enough of that to begin with. "So the Krauts had a go at that stubborn old head of yours," she said, watching him take an experimental sip of his coffee, "That's nothing new, is it?"

"No," he admitted, staring down into his cup, "Never came this close to actually hitting it before, though." He heaved a sigh, raising his eyes to hers, brows furrowing as he repeated what she had said earlier. "I almost died."

"Yes you did."

"An inch to either side, and that would have been it."

"But it wasn't," she stressed quietly, breathing through the sudden tightness in her chest at the thought of losing him, "Which is the important thing."

"I thought this was supposed to be the point where I have some kind of epiphany about life, you know?" he asked, sounding genuinely confused, "You've dodged a few bullets yourself - you ever get any of that?"

She considered her answer briefly but had trouble recalling feeling much of anything in those instances. Humming thoughtfully, she ran a finger over the rim of her mug. "Not particularly," she confessed, one corner of her mouth quirking up the slightest bit, "Just an incessant urge for a drink, but I hardly think you need my help with that."

There was a warning sort of undertone to her remark that he didn't miss, gaze sincere even as he smirked and raised his cup to her. "Hear hear." They clinked the china together, sharing a smile and looking up as the door opened once more and Harry Welsh stepped inside.

"What are we toasting to?" he inquired, eyebrows raised as he went straight for the stove. Eleanor looked at Nix in amusement.

"Oh, you know," she said airily, kicking Lew solidly in the shin when he tried to rest his feet on the edge of her seat, "Making it through another day."

"I'll drink to that!" Welsh decided merrily, helping himself to the coffee. Eleanor laughed.

"You'll drink to anything, you scallywag."

"Damn straight," he grinned, winking at her, "Cheers."

The three of them sat in silence for a while, each drinking their coffee and lost in their own thoughts. At length it was Nixon who spoke first. "Hey, how's Webster doing?" he asked Harry, surprising both of his companions with the question, "He and Van Klinken were close, weren't they?"

Despite their initial astonishment, Eleanor soon realized it was really rather telling that Lew would concern himself over a single trooper like that. While he had been moved up to second battalion staff before they had even left Toccoa and had since been promoted to regiment, he still very much acted like he was a part of Easy Company, hanging around them more often than not and billeting with their officers whenever he could. Webster - though having transferred in from HQ - was one of 'his' men, and therefore warranted the trouble of checking up on.

"The kid's fine," Harry said, pressing his lips together fleetingly, "A little shaken. Writes a helluva lot."

_He followed Van Klinken around like a puppy dog_, Eleanor remembered, _ditto with Miller shadowing Cobb, and now two out of four are dead_. She forced herself away form the morose thoughts. "You know he went to Harvard, right?"

Nixon barely batted an eye. "Of course I do."

"I thought you lot disliked each other on principle," Welsh remarked drolly, putting his feet up on the table. Nixon shrugged.

"He's a soldier of this regiment, and a Toccoa man at that," he said simply, "It doesn't matter if I dislike him or not. I could tell you his exact date of birth, family ties and medical history if I needed to."

Eleanor had to smile at that; of course he could. Besides being honestly attached to Easy he was a battalion intelligence officer, and a damned fine one at that. He probably knew more about most of the men than they knew about themselves. There was a hesitant knock on the door.

"Yeah?" three voices called in unison. First Sergeant Lipton's head popped into the room seconds later.

"Captain Fairfax?"

She straightened out to gain his attention. "Yeah, Lip?"

"Major Wilson wants you at headquarters, ma'am."

"Great," she sighed, fighting the urge to groan. While she had thankfully managed to convince the British major that they needed her team to work with them, she'd had to resign herself to the fact that they would clearly never get along. Harry smiled at her sympathetically.

"S'pose you'd better go indulge the man, huh?"

Getting up to put her cup in the sink, Eleanor stretched and cracked her spine. "I suppose I should."

"Well, someone's gotta hold his hand and make sure he doesn't send us into another ambush," Nixon said, "I'd rather it be you."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," she chuckled, squeezing his shoulder as she passed him by before grabbing her helmet and heading out with Lipton.

"Anytime, doll."

As it turned out, Wilson had actually had a good reason to summon her. The Dutch underground had confirmed a report of enemy movement since Eleanor had met with them a few hours earlier, corroborating their suspicions that the tanks that had been lying low beyond Nuenen would be on the move soon. Once the Jedburgh team had met to double check the information, Eleanor was sent to inform General Taylor, who referred her through to Colonel Sink in turn. Given that the 506th was already on the eastern boundary of the city and they were therefore closest to the anticipated German counterattack, it would fall to them to prevent it from happening.

"And your sources are absolutely certain of this?" Sink quizzed her as they walked from his office towards the regimental S-2, various troopers and members of his staff snapping too as they passed. Eleanor nodded.

"Yes sir. They all seem to agree there's some form of Panzer attack headed our way." She handed him a folder of translated documents and maps, waiting until he'd had the time to glance at a few before continuing on, "If nothing else, it stands to reason- it's been almost two days since Eindhoven got hit and if there really are as many tanks as our prisoner friend would have us believe, it would be foolish for the Germans not to use them."

The colonel clapped the file shut, looking grave. "I concur, though I hate to admit it," he said, passing the folder back to her and halting in front of the intelligence office, rubbing his jaw pensively. "All right, we'll start setting up for a preemptive strike."

"Yes sir," Eleanor concurred, saluting him, "I'll find Van Kooijk." She was about to head off when his voice recalled her.

"Hang on for a second, Captain Fairfax."

She turned back to him, frowning; she hadn't thought there'd be much left to clarify. "Sir?"

"How are you doing, kid?" Sink asked, lowering his voice, usually stern appearance gentling. Eleanor was touched; he had always been kind to her, despite the difference in age, despite his superior ranking, but this overt type of concern would never not affect her.

"I'm-" she said, struggling to formulate a response; somehow, she couldn't bring herself to lie to him, and her usual 'fine' was far from the truth. She was doing as well as could be expected, she supposed - certainly far better than when she had fled from France that last time - but sorrow and anxiety gnawed at her heart constantly, both for the men and for her team. It was hard to pinpoint when their attitude towards their fallen comrades had shifted from _gone but not forgotten_ to _acknowledged but pushed to the back of their minds_, yet it was something that she had never wanted for any of them, neither the loss nor the way they were forced to deal with it.

Perhaps it was the reality of war. Perhaps it was the only way they could survive out here. God only knew she herself had fallen victim to much the same trap in previous years, but it was precisely because she had that she feared the repercussions of it. When all was said and done, the backlash would be far worse; the empty space left by those who had died would be larger, the accumulated grief that much more crippling. At the same time, however, there was no alternative, and she knew they couldn't dwell on it. Not now - especially not now, not when the entire operation was coming apart and they needed to be at the top of their game.

She sighed. "I'm coping, sir," she admitted with a sad, fleeting excuse of a smile, "We all are. There's little else for it."

"If you want some time off the line-"

"Sir, we couldn't," she protested, remembering Dick's heartfelt request for her to stay, "Not while the men are still out here."

Sink sighed, bristled eyebrows drawing together as he shook his head. "Your attachment to the troops is touching, captain, but if the strain becomes too much..."

"Would you have made the same offer to a trooper whose unit had sustained similar losses, sir?" she asked candidly, toying with the folder clenched in her hands.

"No."

That's what I thought. "Even if you had, would they have agreed to leave if it meant being separated from their friends?"

"Probably not," Sink acknowledged, seeing the truth in what she was saying. She nodded, eyes crinkling as her smile lingered.

"Then neither will we," she said firmly, nevertheless attempting to silently convey her gratitude for his consideration. "I'll get Van Kooijk, sir."

Yet another meeting later - this time with the regimental intelligence team - Colonel Sink convened his junior officers to brief them on the upcoming action, gathering them around a map of the area as the morning drew to an end. Eleanor smiled at Clarence Hester as he came in with the colonel and had to bite her lip to keep her grin from growing beyond what was socially acceptable as Dick furtively brushed her hand as he passed her by, narrowing her eyes at him in warning. Open flirtation wouldn't do. Clearing his throat, Sink called the assembly to order.

"Gents," he addressed the group, every last one of them falling silent immediately, "I've just spoken to General Taylor. We've been ordered to move to Uden to halt the Panzer division that's rumored to be holed up in Helmond."

Whispers buzzed around the room. "We're moving up Hell's Highway, sir?" Major Horton asked, alluding to the nickname that the infamous stretch of road had been given by the Allied forces.

"We are," Sink confirmed, turning to Eleanor. "Captain Fairfax?"

Stepping forward, she looked around the small crowd - acutely aware that she was the only woman present - and bent over the map spread out before her. "The underground says there's about a division's worth of Panzer troops holding the town of Helmond, here," she said, pointing at the town's location on the chart, "About fifteen kilometers east of Eindhoven. This corresponds with what the German NCO we captured at Nuenen a few days ago told us during interrogation."

"We think the Germans have a pretty good idea what our strength around Eindhoven is," Nixon added, stepping in with a brief nod of his head towards Eleanor, "Combined with the ongoing struggle over Arnhem, there's concerns the enemy will push for Uden and through to Nijmegen instead." He paused for a beat, letting the severity of the situation sink in. "If they succeed in this, anyone north of us would be cut off entirely."

"Which is why we gotta keep this road clear," Colonel Sink concluded emphatically, "Even if Market Garden falls on its ass-"

"Which it will," Eleanor grumbled under her breath, gazing down at her hands repentantly when Sink raised a forbidding eyebrow at her.

"Which it _might_," he emphasized, "That route needs to be open to us. Now, Colonel Chase here will take HQ and a platoon of E Company in an advance party towards Uden," he said, gesturing at his executive officer, "The British have agreed to send three of their tanks along. The rest of the regiment will follow behind with 2nd battalion in the lead. Captain Winters."

"Sir," Winters responded steadily, making himself known.

"I'll leave which of Easy's platoons should go up to your discretion," Sink asserted, "Get all of your men loaded into the trucks."

"Yes sir."

"Captain Nixon, Captain Fairfax, I want you along as well," he concluded, beckoning one of his aides to fold up the map as he glanced at his watch. "Kickoff's at 1130. Everything clear?"

"Yes sir," came the chorus of assent, the entire group moving away to prepare for the mission ahead. Eleanor, apprehension fluttering in her chest, took a deep breath and followed after Dick and the rest of the second battalion officers. _God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change._ Stepping outside, she raised her hand to shield her eyes from the bright midday sun, squinting a little until the blurred figures in the distance took shape. Judy, Perconte, Luz, Grace, Spina; they came into focus gradually, as though appearing through a shroud of mist. She bit down on her lip until the skin had almost broken. _Courage to change the things I can..._

She looked away from her friends, eyes flickering past the grass and back up to the horizon just in time to see Van Kooijk make for the main part of the city, no doubt returning to the underground's headquarters. Watching him leave, she couldn't help but feel a stab of guilt; his city had already been bombed, and now it looked like the whole area being retaken was a likelihood rather than a possibility. It seemed they had aimed too high and had wanted to go a bridge too far; they would doubtlessly have to find another way into Germany.

_... and wisdom to know the difference._

* * *

The first stretch of their mission was as uneventful as their early days in Holland had been, albeit far more tense. There were no cheering crowds anymore, no sense of being the conquering heroes come to liberate the oppressed, only the strained anticipation of another German ambush waiting just around the corner; regardless, the whole of the regiment made it into Veghel without too much trouble, halting there briefly before sending the advance party on towards Uden. Eleanor, hesitant as she was to leave her team behind once again, knew the reconnaissance unit would need someone to liaise with the locals and expected that Veghel might be safer than Uden would turn out to be; that, combined with Sink's direct order of her going along, had her sitting among Easy's second platoon as the trucks transported them further east and away from the rest of their outfit.

They arrived at their destination halfway through the afternoon, stopping close to the town's double-towered church and admiring it from the street until Colonel Chase ordered four of the officers - Winters, Nixon, Welsh and Fairfax - to climb the spire and use it as a vantage point to get an idea of what they were facing. The church, when the three captains and single lieutenant entered it, was neither particularly old nor overly adorned but beautiful in its simplicity nonetheless, high vaulted ceilings towering over plain brickwork and wooden pews. There was little time to sightsee and appreciate it, however, as Winters led them straight to the long winding stairs going up the rather tall bell tower.

It was a hefty climb. Eleanor spent most of it listening to Nixon and Welsh bantering behind her, the two of them trying to decide who was more out of shape as neither of them could rightfully claim the title of old man. _They differ three days in age and both went through some of the most rigorous training the military has to offer, and still they argue over it. Ridiculous boys._ Be that as it may, it was a welcome distraction from the sheer amount of steps they were ascending, the steeple seeming to go on forever. At long last, Winters opened a door ahead of them, light pouring into the otherwise dark staircase and making them all squint to protect their eyes from the sudden brightness.

"Want me to get you some glasses once we're up there, Harry?" Nixon teased as Welsh rubbed at his eyes, halting briefly to regain his bearings.

"Ah, shaddap, Lewis-"

"You'll want to see this," Winters interrupted grimly, already outside and leaning against one of the walls to look down at the surrounding lands. Eleanor, alarmed by his sudden severity, frowned and dashed up the last few steps, feeling the wind rushing through the belfry scour at her cheeks until they were ruddy with the cold.

"What is-" she began to ask, trailing off mid-sentence when she came to stand beside him and witnessed what he saw. German infantry was crawling everywhere, swarming like tiny black ants as they moved up across the countryside and towards the 101st's lines. Worse still, they had cut across the highway between the two cities once the advance party had made it into Uden, smoke rising from the damaged vehicles where their salient had driven through the British convoy. The American detachment waiting down in the church square - infinitely small in comparison to the forces moving against them - was on its own.

"Oh," she breathed, stunned, gazing up at Dick where he stood besides her. She could almost physically see the wheels turning in his head as he took this latest revelation in stride, already planning ahead, already figuring out a plan. It wasn't hard to understand why his men trusted him the way they did; just knowing that he was on top of things was incredibly reassuring.

"They've got us surrounded," he said evenly, taking out his binoculars to take a closer look at their circumstances. Welsh and Nixon, finally making it to the top of the stairs, joined them at the edge of the steeple.

"Well," Welsh remarked, eyebrows raised, "Shit."

Nixon huffed a laugh, shaking his head, but Eleanor caught a brief flicker of disquiet in his brown eyes before he masked it with dry humor. "There's an understatement if ever I heard one."

"We've got to be outnumbered at least three to one," Eleanor muttered quietly, counting units and analyzing formations. Three to one was a very conservative estimate at that: they only had just over a company's worth of men, along with three tanks. The Germans appeared to have mobilized at least two battalions - quite possibly a regiment - with an addition of heavy artillery to support them, and that was only the beginning by the looks of it. More troops were being brought in by the minute.

"Thanks for reminding us just how fucked we are, beautiful," Harry said dryly, grabbing a map of the city from his bag.

"Hey, you're welcome," she returned, equally wry, leaning in over his shoulder as he unfolded the chart. They studied the area and identified points that would need fortification, glancing up to notice that Nixon had taken his binoculars out as well.

"Do they even know we're here?" the intelligence officer asked of no one in particular, sounding amazed. Welsh shook his head.

"They've gotta," he said, squinting at the horizon, "They didn't just appear out of thin air."

"Even if they don't know, they will soon enough," Winters sighed, stuffing his binoculars back beneath his jacket, "We'd better get the men working on a blockade."

Following him back towards the staircase, Eleanor contemplated their chances. If the Germans discovered the strength - or lack thereof - of the American advance party in Uden, the latter would be done for. If they maintained their hold on the highway, the British divisions up north were royally screwed. If they unleashed their ordinance on Veghel, the 506th stood a pretty good chance of being wiped out completely. All in all, the Allied prospects were looking rather bleak, but gazing between the three men she was with, Eleanor knew they sure as hell wouldn't be going down without a fight.

"Sounds like fun," she commented, feeling oddly composed, the inevitability of what was to come making her more sardonic than ever.

"Oh yeah," Welsh drawled, seemingly in much the same position, "It's been far too long since we've had a good siege, hasn't it, Nix?"

"All of this offense nonsense," Nixon agreed darkly, closing the door of the bell tower behind them, "I don't know why we put up with it."

They headed down the stairs and back out into the streets, finding Colonel Chase talking to HQ Company's CO and flagging both of the officers down to explain the situation at hand. It was odd, Eleanor reflected as the men talked, the way they could be all at once so utterly resigned to what was happening - their minimalist chances of survival included - and yet fiercely determined to fight back and survive at the same time. Not that there was really any other way about it; barring the possibility of flight, this was a fight response at its very finest. When it came down to it, basic instincts won out without fail.

Despite only having a platoon of his own men at his disposal, Winters was put in charge of organizing the defenses, an attestation to Chase's faith in his abilities. As they went to update the men, Eleanor outlined her strategy in setting up a temporary aid station to him quickly, well aware that a few medics and what supplies they had between them were likely to be nowhere near sufficient for what was headed their way. Her plan was simple enough: find a basement, ideally one that doubled as an air raid shelter, and prepare it to receive casualties. They would have to scrounge the city for useable medical supplies and probably improvise a little when it came to stretchers and the like, but at least they would have a place to treat their wounded and keep them alive until - hopefully - their reinforcements would arrive.

Second platoon, when the officers found it, was gathered around the town square, smoking cigarettes and bantering amongst themselves as they awaited orders. Welsh was the first to summon them. "Easy Company, on the CO!"

Thirty or so men rose to their feet in an instant, thronging around their superiors. "What's going on, sir?" Bill Guarnere asked, as though sensing something was amiss. Eleanor noticed Dick tense for the barest of seconds, then almost imperceptibly breathe out and straighten his posture.

"Men," he addressed them solemnly, "There's nothing to get excited about. The situation's normal. We're surrounded." No response; just sombre silence and a few looks exchanged. "Sergeant Lipton, I want you to take every man you can find and put them on the line."

"Even the fellas from HQ, sir?" the first sergeant specified, hand clenched around the strap of his pack.

"Everyone, regardless of unit," Winters emphasized, "Set up roadblocks at every entry point into the city. Lieutenant Welsh will be supervising this process."

Lipton nodded crisply. "Understood, sir."

"Sergeant Luz," Dick continued, turning to the shorter man, "Find HQ's radiomen and tell them to maintain radio silence for the time being. You'll be helping Captain Fairfax set up a temporary aid station along with Doc Roe and the rest of the medics."

"Yessir," Luz responded, all traces of his otherwise free and easy ways gone. His orders given, Winters observed his men for a long few moments before snapping back into action.

"All right, let's get to work."

And so they did. A perimeter was created at the edges of the city, each vital access point blocked off and guarded by a squad of men or more, depending on its size. Eleanor, meanwhile, found a basement in a house close enough to the lines for transport to be relatively easy but far enough that it would hopefully be out of range of the fighting. She sent Gene Roe and the HQ medics to raid whatever medical facilities they could find - doctor's offices, dentistries, anything - for supplies and trained personnel, remaining at the house herself to establish a working area. The family who the property belonged to helped where they could, bringing furniture downstairs and moving appliances back up, both parents grim-faced but their teenage sons fascinated by Eleanor's presence. One of them conveyed to her in hesitant English that they thought she sounded like that woman from Bringing Up Baby, leaving her bemused if mildly flattered until their mother shooed them off.

"It's the last American film they saw," she explained to Eleanor, who nodded slowly._ Makes sense. They'd probably think any female Yank sounds like Katharine Hepburn._ The two women scrubbed away at a table in silence, not stopping until every grain of wood was as clean as they could get it. The nurse was about to stand up and wipe her forehead when the matriarch's hand suddenly caught her wrist, a pair of astute eyes pinning her in place.

"You're young," the Dutchwoman said, appraisingly, "Your eyes might be old, but my eldest cannot be so much younger than you are. Here." She took one of the sheets of linen that had been stacked nearby and tore it in half once, twice, handing the remaining square of pristinely white fabric to Eleanor. "When the Germans come, show them this." Standing back, she gave the girl in front of her a final once-over, halfway sympathetic, mostly sad. "If you're lucky, they might spare you."

With that, she left, oblivious to Eleanor staring after her as she bypassed Winters and the returning radiomen on the stairs. Looking down at the cloth she was holding, the previously colorless material already stained by the dirt on her hands, Eleanor wondered what the hell had just happened. The bizarre exchange - or lecture, really - was perhaps the last thing she had expected from their host; questions over her being there, certainly, but not this weird display of understanding and pity. _They might spare you... but what's the point in that when they've overtaken the city and killed all of my friends?_

Noticing that something had unsettled her, Dick moved to stand besides her and waited patiently for her to elaborate. "The lady who lives here just gave me this," she said promptly, holding up the scrap of sheet for him to see, "Told me to keep it separate and use it as a white flag if the town is overrun." _Although she said when, not if, as though there really is no other possible outcome to this mess._ She shook her head, smiling fleetingly. "Cheerful woman."

"She's got a point," Winters said quietly, "If something happens and we can't-"

"Don't say that," Eleanor replied sharply, much preferring not to consider that option. If it happened, it happened and so be it, but until then, she really did not want to think about it. "Put that over there," she ordered the HQ troopers that stood by awkwardly, not quite sure what to do with the boxes of supplies they had brought in until she indicated their proper place. Pushing past Dick, she grabbed an old broomstick and a saw, intending to cut the end off to use the pole for a stretcher.

"Eleanor, listen to me," Dick urged, stepping after her, "If things go badly, I want you to stay with the wounded men and surrender."

"Surrender?" she echoed incredulously, blade hovering over the wood. It wasn't something she had considered, not even when the strange Dutchwoman had handed her the torn linen; it wasn't what she had been trained to do. Worst case scenarios meant going down fighting or, if all else failed, biting down on one of the cyanide pills she even now carried - certainly not giving in and giving up. She knew far too much to risk being tortured into submission if her identity were to be discovered.

"Don't go out there to confront them," Dick was saying, glimpsing down at the gun strapped to her leg, "They'll treat you better if they think you're a nurse."

"You mean they won't shoot me on sight," she said matter-of-factly, putting down the tool she was holding when he winced at the blunt statement. _How do I ever explain this to him?_ "Darling," she said softly, tone infinitely gentler, "I was fighting the Germans when you were still in basic training. What makes you think I'd give up now- or that I even could?"

He ducked his head, jaw clenched, eyes hooded. "Please."

Taken aback, she realized that he was all but pleading. He understood the risks - he had to, after everything she'd told him - yet somehow he seemed unable to stand the thought of her dying, no matter what the circumstances. He still believed that the Germans would be decent enough to treat a regular nurse with clemency and compassion. Her heart ached. _Oh, my love. I wish I had your faith._

"All right," she whispered, glancing at him over her shoulder, her hand finding his. She ought to be reminding him of the danger, of what they were likely to do to her if she were recognized, but found that she could not torment him like that. "If that's what you want, then I will," she assured him, deciding she might at least try to survive. _If Noor and Yolande can live through this many months of interrogation, then perhaps so can I. Let love be my undoing, then - it's worth a try._

"Thank you," Winters murmured, fingers tightening around hers. She nodded, leaning back against him for the briefest of moments before clearing her throat; them standing this closely together was bound to raise suspicions.

"I'd better get back to-"

"Of course," he agreed quickly, moving away as she returned to work.

"Luz, could you head up and find me some more rope?" she asked the technician, trying to ignore the sinking feeling that he'd noticed their little exchange. If his uncommonly fond smile was anything to go by, he certainly had.

"Sure thing, Elle."

"Thanks," she called after him warily, narrowing her eyes before turning to the HQ boys, "You two, see if you can find me another broom." Beginning to fashion what she hoped would be a reliable stretcher, she didn't realize Dick hadn't gone back up the stairs along with the other men, instead lingering behind and watching her work.

"Ellie."

She inhaled sharply as her heart jumped and she turned around to face him, chuckling breathlessly at having been caught off guard like that. _Stupid of me_. "Yeah?"

He was looking at her intently, expression affectionate but otherwise all but unreadable. "I l-"

Hasty footsteps rushed down the stairs. "Captain Winters!" Both of their heads snapped up, the moment broken as Earl McClung hastened down into the basement.

"What is it, McClung?" his CO asked, giving no indication as to what he had been about to say. The trooper snapped to intuitively.

"We've got movement, sir," he reported, "We think it's a Kraut patrol."

Eleanor watched them dash off again, exchanging one last lingering look with Dick before he disappeared up the stairs entirely. Tempted though she was to run after them and join the fight, she knew she couldn't do so; Easy might have more or less come to terms with her proficiency around firearms and combat, but the men of HQ Company certainly hadn't. Being out on the line with them meant gambling with their focus - if they became distracted by her presence, the consequences might be dire. Moreover, they needed someone in charge of their temporary aid station in lieu of a proper one. As a trained nurse and one-time medical student, she knew a decent deal more than the regular field medics and outranked them at that; they would look to her for guidance, and she couldn't just abandon her post.

For the second time that day, she found herself praying; as dubious as she was about the almighty, it was a habit too ingrained and times too dire not to do so. _God, let them be all right. Let them beat back the Germans, as improbable as that might be. Please. Just look after them._ Time seemed to slow as it always did on occasions like this, tense seconds ticking by with agonizing reluctancy until the first wounded - all minor, thank everything good and holy - came in and reported that their counterattack against the enemy patrol had been a success. For now, at least, the Germans had been beaten back, and the wait for the next potential strike began.

It never came. There were no further casualties, no accounts of enemy movements; what did come was the faraway roar of artillery. Appalled by its implications, Eleanor sprinted up the stairs and out of the house, running down the street until she found Harry Welsh at the company CP, gazing out across the fields between Uden and Veghel. To her dismay, the ordinance she had heard was targeted at the latter- targeted at the very town where her unit and the rest of the regiment were stuck.

"What's happening?" she demanded, skidding to a halt besides her smaller friend. He scowled, worry morphed into vexation.

"Krauts have shifted their focus to Veghel."

_Not again. We've already lost two, not even counting the men- please don't make us go through this all over._ Scanning the surroundings, she noticed that two people she had expected to find around this area were in fact not present anywhere nearby. "Where are Dick and Lew?"

"Up the bell tower."

"They really shouldn't be," she winced, apprehensive that they might be spotted and targeted by enemy riflemen. High up as the church steeple was, it wouldn't be an impossible shot. Rubbing her face wearily, she shook her head. "Damn it."

Harry looked at her sharply. "You okay?"

"Yeah, Harry, I'm fine," she snapped, harsher than she had intended, "My team are once again stuck in the middle of an enemy bombardment, but I'm fine."

"Hey," Welsh said, reaching up to wrap an arm around her shoulders, "They'll be all right. Martin and the others will look after them, and it's mostly the edge of the city getting hit anyway."

"For now," she groused bleakly. Harry sighed.

"For now. C'mon, let's find ourselves some food."

* * *

Hours passed and darkness fell accompanied by a miserable drizzle of rain that, though by no means a downpour, would soak a person thoroughly within little to no time at all. The shelling of Veghel continued on relentlessly throughout, interrupted only every so often when it seemed the guns needed reloading or the soldiers manning them required rest, but besides those brief few moments there was little respite. Eleanor spent most of that dreary evening going back and forth between the various outposts, keeping herself preoccupied and her thoughts away from her team being stuck in yet another attack by cheering the men as best as she could and making sure they were prepared. Rosters were decided upon and imposed, dry matches doled out, songs sang quietly and anecdotes shared; they were trivial little things, but they passed the time so long as sleep wasn't an option. It was during one of the breaks in the shelling that she decided to join Bill Guarnere in his walk along the line, the two of them checking up on the stations along the perimeter with the ultimate goal of reporting to the rest of the officers at the CP. The rain had stopped too, albeit it briefly, leaving the air damp and the streets shining in the pale light of the moon as it broke through the clouds. Besides the hushed chatter of the men it was an almost eerily still night now that the enemy's guns had fallen silent, the local civilians having long since retreated into their homes and any sort of wildlife too disturbed by the ongoing strife to make much noise.

The captain and the sergeant didn't speak as they slunk along the buildings, hesitant to disturb the silence and communicating through hand signs and sheer instinct instead. They had dropped by most of the outposts already and were nearing the end of their tour, exchanging smiles when Bill stepped into a particularly deep puddle and Eleanor skipped over it playfully not long after, when they passed by an alleyway and suddenly - unexpectedly - ran into another group of people.

All of them froze, staring at the other party in shock for a long moment. Eleanor's eyes widened. A squad of Germans - half a dozen or so by her estimation, some further away from them than others - had emerged out of the shadows, gaping back at them with equally appalled expressions, almost disbelieving their own eyes. _How did we not hear them coming_, she wondered, distinctly aware that their opponents must be thinking much the same thing, the question followed rapidly by a sinking feeling in her gut and the realization that they were outnumbered three times over at the very least. _Oh hell._

Then, without warning, Guarnere swung the Tommy gun off his shoulder and smacked it across the jaw of the soldier standing closest to him, knocking the man back against the ground. Eleanor was briefly glad that he seemed to have chosen not to fire his weapon unless strictly necessary; the last thing they wanted to do was alert any possible enemy reinforcements of what was going on, after all. Her relief didn't last very long. An arm wrapped around her neck and she yelped involuntarily as she was drawn back against a solid chest, struggling fleetingly - uselessly - as the hold around her airway was tightened. Bill, already embroiled in a struggle, startled at her squeak of surprise and looked away long enough to be distracted and receive a nasty blow to the stomach himself. Eleanor watched in horror as he doubled over and staggered back, vulnerable and exposed and entirely too easy a target.

A strange yet utterly familiar calm settled over her, her previously muddled thoughts clearing up and long-honed skills kicking back into gear. _Mistake number one: don't ever hurt my friends._ Within a split second, she had analyzed her attacker's weak points and concluded that his grip on her really wasn't that strong at all. A strategy followed even as the bitter taste of adrenaline filled her mouth. _Mistake number two: never underestimate me just because I'm a woman_. Her jaw clenched; her face settled into an unreadable mask. Dropping her hips and shifting her weight, she grabbed the arm around her throat and flung the man behind her over her shoulder with an easy twist of her torso. The impact of the unyielding cobbles against his head was enough to knock him unconscious. _One_.

Straightening out, she turned slightly and threw her elbow into the windpipe of a second attacker with vicious accuracy, barely hearing him gurgle for breath before bringing him down with a final strike of her forearm against his neck. _Two_. A blast of automatic fire flew past her from close range, missing her by an inch. Apparently the Krauts had decided the two Americans were enough of a threat to risk alarming the main Allied force, but the blood rushing through Eleanor's ears all but drowned out the concern that it would do the opposite and bring in further enemy troops. _Keep going._ She glanced over at Bill where he was grappling with another adversary. _Get yourselves out of here._ Ducking and moving stealthily, she got behind the man wielding the sub-machine gun and jumped him, putting a hand over his mouth and latching onto his arms to force the gun around the way she wanted it to go. The hapless soldier squeezed the trigger wildly, disoriented by her sudden advance, only succeeding in mowing down one of his own men as the latter ran to the aid of their colleague wrestling with a very stubborn-headed Bill Guarnere. _Three_.

Moving her fingers to stab at the eyes of the gunman, she took advantage of his loss of control to slip the gun out of his hand and turn it on him. He went down with a whimper and a heavy thud. _Four_. Movement on the ground caught her eye; her initial assailant, the one who had grabbed her around the neck only to be thrown over her shoulder, had recovered to the point where he was struggling to get up and back into the fray. _Not bloody likely._ A final blast from the German gun was all it took to put him firmly back on her tally list. She tossed the foreign weapon aside, its chamber all but empty, and ran over to Bill - now on the receiving end of a chokehold - straight away. Freeing her own gun from its holster on her thigh, she dragged the Kraut bent over her friend backward to get a clear angle and shot him through the heart without hesitation, blood spraying all over Guarnere's face and staining her hands as she pushed the dead man aside. _Five_.

The sergeant blinked up at her dazedly, spluttering for breath after having his airway damn near cut off, watching her chest heave and hand clench and unclench tersely around her gun. The way she was standing - still on guard, still wound as tight as coil ready to spring - made it seem as though she was expecting more enemy soldiers to pounce on them at any given moment, yet none came. Whatever had just happened was evidently over, and the terrifying, almost coldly distant glint to her eyes slowly began to subside; her arm lowered along with the rest of her as she knelt by his side and holstered her weapon.

Guarnere shook his head slowly as she helped him sit up, still a little dumbfounded. Around them were the corpses of eight Krauts, the majority of which she had just single-handedly killed. Luz clearly hadn't been kidding when he'd said she could be one scary broad when she needed to be. "Jesus Christ, babydoll," he croaked, wincing at the pain in his throat. Just as he was starting to think that this was not the Ellie he knew, the Ellie he had come to love like a surrogate sibling, she came back to herself, fingers gentle as she examined his injury.

"Don't try to talk," she shushed, casting a critical eye over him, "You all right?"

"Ain't got a scratch on me," he assured her hoarsely, disregarding her order not to speak and grinning at her wearily. It wasn't exactly the truth - if he were perfectly honest, he was more than a little sore and he was pretty sure one of the Germans had slashed his arm with their knife - but it was close enough by his estimation. "You?"

"'m Fine," she said, continuing her scrutiny despite his guarantee he was unhurt and soon discovering that he did in fact have a cut on his arm. Exhaling sharply, she pulled back his sleeve to survey the damage and treat the wound, the remnants of adrenalin continuing to make her heart pound. As she sprinkled sulfa over his arm and bandaged it up, the Philly sergeant took a moment to survey the carnage.

"Five," he blurted out, wincing when she tightened the temporary dressings, "You knocked out _five_ fucking Krauts."

"Well," she said, smiling in an attempt to hide her own disquiet and standing back up, "We can tell the others you killed all eight."

"Jesus," he repeated, taking the hand she held out to him and hoisting himself upright. He kicked at the discarded MP40, watching it skid along the pavement as the rain started up again slowly. "Why the fuck didn't they shoot at us?"

"Probably the same reason we didn't shoot at them," Eleanor shrugged, listlessly scrutinizing the fallen enemy for any little detail that might be important. Pieces of the puzzle were starting to come together; this couldn't have been more than a scouting party, a small group sent to look for weak links in the Allied chain of defenses. It was really rather lucky the two of them had ran into the way they did: had they not, the Germans could have very easily broken through and learned just how drastically favorable their odds truly were.

"Didn't want to alert the cavalry," she continued, shaking her head wryly. "Probably thought they could overtake us without too much trouble, the sorry bastards."

Guarnere snorted. "Yeah, well, bad fucking luck for them."

Footsteps rushing toward them had them both on edge again, hands on their weapons and postures poised to fight, but they relaxed instantly when they saw it was Harry Welsh along with a handful of HQ troopers. "What he hell happened?" the lieutenant demanded, surveying the scene before him with wide eyes, "We heard gunshots-"

"Krauts were looking for gaps in our perimeter," Eleanor explained calmly, gesturing around them, "This alleyway's it."

"Goddamn it," Welsh swore, gesturing at the HQ boys to take up positions and guard the area for the time being, "Either of you hurt?"

"We're fine, Harry," Eleanor reassured him, using the rain to wash the blood off her hands before wiping them on her trousers. Welsh looked from her to Guarnere, who was tilting his head back in a similar effort to clean his face, and frowned.

"That's a whole lotta blood for 'fine', Elle."

"It ain't mine, LT," Bill said, dragging his undamaged sleeve across his forehead, "The captain shot some sorry sonnuvabitch after he'd jumped me."

Another hurried pair of footsteps signaled the arrival of another two people; this time, it was Winters along with the replacement who had helped Eleanor during the skirmish at Nuenen. The kid's jaw dropped and his CO's mouth settled into a thin line.

"What happened?"

"These two just took out half a squad of Krauts between the two of them," Welsh elaborated, jerking his thumb towards Eleanor and Guarnere. The latter grinned somewhat roguishly.

"Yessir, sure did."

Winters raised his eyebrows at Eleanor, stunned and more than a little worried; she merely shrugged in response. "Likely just a scouting party trying to find a way to outflank us."

Welsh glanced around the vicinity. "Why didn't they sent more?"

"Honestly?" she asked, picking up her helmet from where it had fallen down during the struggle, "I don't think they've realized they outnumber us. They would have attacked in force a long time ago if they had."

"But they _are_ looking for a way through," Winters nodded, already formulating a plan, "Harry, double check the perimeter, make sure it's airtight this time," he told his XO, "If there's so much as an inch left open, I want a barrier set up to guard it, understood?"

"Yeah," Welsh responded dutifully, snapping into action and moving to gather the enlisted men around them.

"Get it done," Winters added, turning to the two persons remaining as the shorter officer set off to secure their line, "Sergeant Guarnere, go get that arm cleaned up and rejoin your platoon."

"Yessir."

That left just the captains. "Ellie..."

She smiled tightly, feeling her limbs begin to tremble now that the adrenalin was wearing off at last. _Easy. Deep breaths. This isn't over yet._ "Roadblocks alone won't do," she said quietly, grimacing when the eighty-eights directed at Veghel started up again in the distance, "It could be a matter of hours before they figure it out."

"So we prepare for siege."

"We make do," she agreed, toying with the straps on her helmet idly to keep the persistent tremor in her hand from showing, "I've picked up some tricks over the years- give me a few men and a couple of hours and I should be able to put some molotovs together for you."

"Russian tank warfare?" Winters asked mildly, partially astounded and yet not surprised at all; she had been fighting a guerilla war for quite some time now. It stood to reason she would know improvised tactics like the one she just mentioned.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," she cited dryly, watching him as he lowered his eyes and sighed.

"You're right," he said, taking in their surroundings briefly before looking back up at her. "Three men, huh?"

"Five, actually," she corrected without a hint of conceit, rubbing a hand across her eyes, suddenly very tired, "Last one almost got to Bill." She cringed. "Don't tell him I said that."

"I won't," Dick promised softly, reaching out to tenderly brush a strand of wet hair from her pale face, "You're soaked."

"So are you," she parried, mirroring his smile and nuzzling into his touch. He tucked the hair behind her ear lightly.

"How are you holding up?"

She stiffened at that. "Fine. Why wouldn't I be?" The look he gave her was only the slightest bit unimpressed and decidedly concerned, and she rolled her eyes in exasperation. _Stop bringing it up and let me cope, would you?_ "Let's just get this over with," she sighed, setting off in the direction of the CP without another word.

He followed her without hesitation.

* * *

There was little sleep for anyone in the 506th that night, be they in Uden or Veghel. The shelling the main force of the regiment endured was the heaviest bombardment it had experienced thus far and it was agony for those of its members in Uden to be forced to stand by and watch while their colleagues - their friends - were battered so harshly. Then, of course, there was the tense anticipation of another attack on their own lines, the concern that if the main force at Veghel was indeed annihilated they would be left on their own, outnumbered and outgunned in every way; despite Eleanor's best effort to keep her little run in with the German squad a secret, rumors spread like wildfire and soon the incident was being discussed at every checkpoint. Should have known.

The early hours of the next mourning found her making another round past the lines, intending to find Dick and Lew while she was at it. Droplets of water dripped down her helmet and onto her nose as she greeted the small group of men having breakfast at the roadblock closest to the CP, the lot of them as drenched as she was but too tired to complain about it much. She offered them a worn smile by ways of greeting and crouched down by their foxholes.

"Anyone seen Captains Winters and Nixon?"

Luz lifted his fork to point at the church behind them. "Yeah, right up-"

_Pekong!_

There was a clear but unusual chime of the church bell, the clear sound of a foreign object hitting it rather than it actually being tolled. Several tins clattered to the ground. Eleanor felt her heart skip a beat.

"Sniper!" Guarnere surmised, grabbing his rifle and leveling it at the skyline. Besides him, Luz swore loudly.

"Fuck!"

"Anybody got eyes on him?" Malarkey asked from one of the trenches further down, metal scraping against metal as his squad drew the covers off their equipment and set up their mortar tube.

"No, but Winters and Nixon are up the goddamn belfry!" Joe Toye shouted back, and that was the last straw for Eleanor - bounding out of ditch, she ran across the street and towards the church, heedless of possibly attracting any snipers herself.

"Ellie!" Luz hollered after her; she paid him no notice. "Captain Fairfax!"

"The hell is she doing?"

She didn't answer Bill, feet pounding against the pavement as she hurtled herself forward and through the large doors, careening around the corner to get to the bell tower. She was in such a haste that she ran squarely into Winters as Nixon and he came bolting down the stairs.

"Come on, come on, keep going- whoa!" he declared, catching her by the shoulders as she crashed into him. "Ellie, what are you-"

Gaping up at him, she checked him over first, then Nixon, then him again. "You're okay," she said, breathing heavily as he gradually lowered his hands from her arms and let her go. Nixon frowned over at her, amused.

"Yeah, we're-" She smacked him squarely in the sternum, suddenly furious. "Ow! Jesus!"

"What the hell were you thinking, going up there again?" she raged, alternating between hitting them both, "There's Krauts _everywhere_, you know that- you could have been hurt, you could have been _killed_- you _stupid_-"

Winters stepped in and caught her wrists, gently but forcefully pinning them against his own chest. "Hey, hey," he soothed, "It's all right. C'mere." He pulled her against him, rubbing a hand down her back as she struggled briefly before pressing her face against his shoulder, trying to regain the control she had so unexpectedly lost.

"Nix, could you go check on the men?"

"Sure," the other captain said, sounding mildly disconcerted but heading out regardless. Eleanor, at the same time, slowly felt several days worth of tension drain out of her, breathing evening out as her equilibrium returned bit by anxious bit.

"Whatever happened to being careful?" she demanded, remembering the promise they had made before they had jumped into Holland. _I bloody well promised him to surrender if it came down to it, too, and then he goes and does this?_

He sighed into her hair. "The same thing that happened to no longer tempting fate, I'd imagine."

"Yeah," she breathed ruefully, knowing he was right as she regained the last scraps of her composure."We're still here."

He hummed softly, the sound of it reverberating in his chest and against her cheek. She lifted her head to meet his eyes. "And we'll be all right."

"Yes we will be," he said, smoothing her hair back lovingly as she kissed him, only to pull back abruptly when the distinctive rumble of planes caught their attention.

"Are those Spitfires?"

"Yeah," Eleanor asserted; she would have recognized the sound anywhere. "Come on."

Grabbing each other by the hand, they ran back outside, only letting go when the church doors closed behind them and they were bound to draw attention to themselves if they continued to hold on. The first thing Eleanor did was look towards the sky, taking in the make and model of the planes and the markings upon them. _They really are Allied aircrafts_, she realized in amazement, _Brits, in fact._

To her utter horror, a number of the men had their rifles aimed at the sky, apparently mistaking the planes zooming overhead for enemy fighters. "Hold your fire!" she yelled at them, gesturing urgently, "Hold your fire, goddammit. Those are British planes." The guns were lowered. Eleanor allowed herself to smile. "The RAF's here."

"So's the artillery," Harry spoke up as he came to stand besides her, pointing at the Cromwells and Shermans advancing towards the enemy lines. Whistles and cheers went up along the foxholes as gunfire erupted along Veghel's borders.

"Took 'em long enough!" Malarkey hollered, slapping Muck on the back triumphantly. Sharing their foxhole with them, Penkala didn't seem quite so jubilant.

"Do you think anyone's even still alive out there?" he pondered aloud, contemplating the southern city and its wrecked skyline. Nearby, Eleanor stiffened unintentionally, stomach clenching in fear. _What if he's right? What if we're all that's left?_

"Jesus, Penk," Skip scolded, cuffing him round the head.

"What?" He looked around, confused. "What?"

Winters, ever the voice of reason, touched Eleanor's shoulder comfortingly. "Someone's got to be," he argued, smiling down at her, "They wouldn't be returning fire otherwise. Keep an eye on the line," he told the men, "We don't want them trying to come through after all."

"Yes sir!"

Beyond all hope and expectation, the German siege was broken and the road cleared once again with the help of the British air force and artillery. It took the 506th another day to reassemble in Uden, both sides stupefied and delighted to find the others alive and well, the dreary mood of the past few days lifted when they regrouped and the sun made a brief appearance between the clouds. Eleanor wasted no time in finding her team and embracing them tightly, holding on for as long as they would allow, torn between laughter and tears when Betty told her that Gale was alive and expected to recover. _Baby steps,_ she thought, knowing this was but a small victory in the midst of defeat but more than willing to take what she could get. Standing there, surrounded by her team, the men smiling at them from a distance, she regained some small measure of belief.

_Perhaps we'll make it through after all._

* * *

**Oh dear, I do believe this is the longest chapter yet... my apologies if it seems in any way erratic and/ or all over the place, it's been a hectic few weeks and for some reason I decided now would be a good time to experiment and toy around with the POV as well. :) Silly me. Reviews are love - thank you so much to everyone who left a comment on the previous chapter! Hope you've all enjoyed this one as much...**


	29. Falling Leaves

**Disclaimer: this story is based chiefly on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.**

* * *

It was raining, and Eleanor was pissed.

Holed up in a little attic room that doubled as her office, she stared out of the window wearily, watching the fat drops of water rolling down the glass and beating out a rhythm on the slanted roof. The weather had turned foul days ago and had barely let up since, as appropriate a metaphor as ever there was for their circumstances at that point in time: dreary, with little to no hope of improvement. Sighing, she rolled her shoulders and winced, body aching with the strain of long hours spent ferrying between the regiments of the 101st but her mind too restless with worry to settle down and sleep. It was a predicament she would never grow used to but was at least marginally familiar with; still, it had been some time since her insomnia had been this bad.

It was bad for a reason. Market-Garden had failed; that much had become clear over the past few days. Virtually all of the concerns she'd had about the undertaking had proven to be right: communications had fallen short, cooperation with the local underground had been insufficient, and a plan based on the assumption that every little detail would work out as expected had come undone the moment they hadn't. What they were left with were the shambles of a military operation and an appalling loss of human life. More alarmingly, they lacked a coherent exit strategy; unless the whole of the Allied advance were to be redirected northward - something that seemed highly unlikely if not outside of the realm of possibility - they would have to leave the area somehow, but despite the enemy continuously tightening their hold, there had been no methods of retreat prepared.

And so Eleanor was left to brood in an abandoned loft in Uden, waiting for the regiment's next action and the orders that would no doubt go along with it. She had sent her team to bed a few hours earlier, well-aware they could do with the rest and there was little to do for the time being anyway. Between surviving two bombardments and having to deal with the fallout of Market-Garden going awry, it had been a hell of a few days, Meg's loss still weighing heavily on them even as they struggled to continue going forward. _If we keep going like this, we'll soon have team members buried in every occupied country this side of the continent, _Eleanor thought glumly. Looking back, she wasn't sure what she had expected when she had first started working with her team. There had always been the danger of casualties; of course there had been. They were in the midst of a war, for Christ's sake. Two dead and one critically injured wasn't a staggering number in the grand of scheme of things, either, but relatively speaking it was a lot, right up there with some of the companies' losses. Squaring with that knowledge was proving to be difficult.

The door creaked and footsteps resounded on the wooden stairs, making Eleanor startle at the sound of them. She wasn't expecting company, not at this time of night, and she was on edge as it was; her fingers tightened around the rifle she'd been cleaning instinctively and she lifted her feet from where they'd been resting on the table. In no time, though, Betty's dark curls appeared above the banisters, followed swiftly by the rest of the lieutenant.

"Oh, it's you," Eleanor breathed, body relaxing slowly as she realized it was only her second-in-command. The other woman looked a little drowsy still, appearance uncharacteristically disheveled and usually sharp eyes narrowed as she tried to focus them.

"Good morning to you, too," she greeted wryly, rubbing a hand across her face. "I knew I heard someone rummaging around up here."

_Damn it. _"I'm sorry if I woke you," Eleanor offered, grimacing regretfully and turning her chair around a little so she could face her friend fully. She hadn't meant to keep anyone else up; just because she had a hard time sleeping didn't mean other people ought to.

Betty shrugged, apparently not too bothered to have been woken. "Don't worry about it," she mollified, stretching fatigued muscles, "Wasn't getting much sleep anyway."

"Still, you should go back to bed, try and get some rest at least..."

"I could say the same to you," the nurse said pointedly, raising an eyebrow at her CO. She knew Eleanor hadn't been sleeping well and it was no secret that the captain had been twitchy from the get-go; though Betty had tried to get her to calm down a bit, she remained obstinately wound up. Letting her gaze wander around the small attic room, the lieutenant frowned when she noticed the weapon spread out on the table besides Eleanor, inclining her head towards it curiously.

"Interesting choice of time to be cleaning your rifle." Looking more closely, she realized it wasn't just any gun either. "Is that-"

"New?" Eleanor finished for her, nodding as she ran a finger along the barrel. "Yeah, she is. Gift from General Taylor." The division commander had given it to her when she had dropped by to visit his headquarters, saying she'd need a proper firearm now that matters were heating up - whatever that meant. To her surprise, it had been the newly introduced sniper variety of the standard M-1, a scope mounted atop of it; she hadn't used this type of rifle since joining up with the American forces. When she had looked to Taylor for an explanation, he had merely smiled. Odd as the whole thing had been, she was a beauty of a new gun, and a present Eleanor was quietly pleased with.

"She needed some attention," she continued, "Couple of adjustments. There's always hiccups with new designs like this."

Sitting down on one of the chairs on the opposite end of the table, Betty snorted, apparently too tired for social niceties, and shook her head. "You know, people are going to think you're crazy if you continue to talk like that," she commented, happy to see Eleanor smile when she caught on to what she'd said. Attachment to rifles wasn't uncommon amongst the men, but referring to it as if it were a person was indeed taking matters a little far, perhaps.

For a moment, Betty observed her friend, noting the circles under her eyes and the way she fidgeted with a bit of cleaning rag. It wasn't hard to deduce that she was exhausted, but something was obviously keeping her up. Leaning back in the uncomfortable chair, the nurse folded her arms across her chest pensively. "What's on your mind?"

"Nothing," Eleanor said, rather too quickly for it to be true. Betty fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"Right," she retorted, "And Captain Winters isn't a raging ginger."

"Well, his hair looks _positively_ auburn in certain lights."

"You would know," Betty muttered, amending her statement when Eleanor shot her a decidedly unimpressed look. "You would know, _ma'am_." The fact that the captain let the cheeky remark otherwise slip was another indicator of her state of mind. Betty sighed. _Something _had to be up. "Seriously, though, what's going on?"

Eleanor gnawed at her lip, troubled. "The battalions are moving out again."

"The salient south of Veghel?" Betty guessed, having heard the news about the German forces driving a wedge across the Allied column on the infamous Hell's Highway. The whole camp had been abuzz with it and it seemed only logical to assume that someone would be send to deal with it.

"The road needs to be kept open," Eleanor confirmed grimly, "If only to retreat through."

"You really think it's that bad?" the younger woman asked quietly, disturbed by how bleak the answer she received was. It had been coming for a while now - things had already been going wrong when she and the other nurses had arrived in Holland, after all - but it was a discouraging notion nonetheless.

"You've seen the same intel as I have," the captain noted, looking up at her colleague, "Don't you?"

Betty was silent, unsure of what to say but unable to deny the severity of the situation. Balancing her chair on its back legs precariously, she met Eleanor's eyes across the table. "What about the Jedburgh team?"

"Disbanded, now that Market-Garden has officially been declared over," Eleanor said, reiterating what she had been told all but verbatim. She had expected to feel more relief at having gotten rid of the inefficient and often infuriating group of men but was rapidly beginning to realize having them around had had its uses. For one, the translators had been invaluable, and the presence of the English men had streamlined working with the British divisions at least a little. Now that they had been broken up and dispersed among the Allied forces, Eleanor's team would be left to take over most of their work. Betty made a soft noise of annoyance.

"Because clearly any form of coordinated liaising with the locals won't be necessary anymore," she remarked caustically, setting her feet back onto the ground. Eleanor allowed herself a fleeting smile.

"Clearly."

"Great," Betty groused, running a hand through her mussed hair, "So it's a waiting game until the higher ups finally decide what to do with themselves."

"Pretty much," Eleanor agreed, pushing back from the table and getting up to open the window a little, "I expect we'll be back to what we did in France soon enough- processing intelligence and the like, picking up where the Jedburghs left off." Outside, she could just make out the shapes of men running back and forth through the rain, preparing for the upcoming mission, and scowled at the sight of it. "Keeping the damn aid station afloat."

"You wish you were going with them," Betty said slowly, understanding dawning on her pretty face as she watched her CO cross the room, "The men, I mean."

Eleanor leaned her head against the ledge. _Maybe. _"I don't like waiting."

"You don't like not knowing what's going on," Betty argued, knowing she had hit the nail on its head when Eleanor flinched visibly.

"Last time I didn't know what was going on, Meg ended up dead," she pointed out, sticking her hand out of the window carefully and letting the rain fall down onto it. The droplets were cool, splashing softly onto her palm and forming a small puddle there. _Exactly the opposite of what fell out of the sky that night..._

"You know that wasn't your fault, don't you?" Betty said, regarding her friend sorrowfully as she lingered by the opening in the roof, "There was nothing any of us could have done."

"Tell that to Miller and Van Klinken," Eleanor mumbled, pulling her hand back and shaking the water off it. When she turned back towards Betty, the nurse was frowning, apparently confused.

"I'm sorry?"

"They died because we had no idea what we were heading into," the captain elaborated darkly, walking back to the table and perching on its edge, "One half-decent recon mission and we would have known the Krauts had an ambush lying in wait for us."

Betty shook her head. "It wasn't your job-"

"It should have been," Eleanor cut her off sharply, haunted by the memory of Van Klinken's too-still body and the tiny waver in Hashey's voice when he had reported that Miller was dead. Insecure as she was of her own abilities at times, she _knew_ she could have done better, now torn between guilt over not having stepped up and raised her concerns more and anger at being denied the opportunity to do so. Betty, meanwhile, was looking at her appraisingly.

"Maybe," the lieutenant allowed, breathing in deeply, "Look, I know we've blundered our way through this entire operation-"

"Understatement."

"But we're doing the best we can."

"Tell _that_ to the Dutch people when we inevitably abandon them."

This time, Betty didn't even try to resist rolling her eyes, thoroughly fed up with her boss' moping. "Christ, are you always this chipper this early in the morning?"

"It's a talent."

"I bet," she said drily, getting to her feet and circling around the table until she was standing next to Eleanor. "Come on. We're getting some air."

The captain's eyebrows shot up. "It's raining."

"It'll clear up," Betty countered, silently daring her friend to disagree. Eleanor merely eyed her suspiciously.

"And how come you're so optimistic?"

"It's a talent," the nurse parroted, nudging the other woman in the shoulder, "C'mon. You could do with a break, and I could do with a cigarette."

"Anyone ever tell you you get bossy when you're tired?" Eleanor groaned, getting up regardless. _Might as well._

Halfway down the stairs already, Betty chuckled sardonically. "Many have tried."

Somehow, Eleanor did not doubt it.

* * *

Morning dawned slowly, the watery sun seeming to rise almost timidly, as though it was reluctant to do so. Eleanor and Betty watched it climb its way over the horizon, kept up first by a newly transmitted bit of code, then by the distant roar of artillery as battle recommenced. They were back in the aid station and sorting through supplies when an agitated looking trooper came rushing in.

"Anybody seen where the fuck O'Brian's gotten to?" he called, right around the time when Eleanor identified him as one of the stretcher bearers. Nobody answered him, several people around the room shaking their heads or shrugging their shoulders until the man kicked at a nearby chair and swore loudly in frustration. "Goddammit!"

Waving Betty over to join her, Eleanor made a straight line for him, fully intending to find out what had the NCO so riled up. "What seems to be the problem, corporal?"

The medic snapped to within an instant, eyes wide. "Ma'am!"

"At ease," Eleanor pacified, looking him up and down unconsciously. He was a stocky thing, reliable in build and character, and though she couldn't remember his name at the time, definitely a veteran of the previous campaign by the way he carried himself. "What's going on?"

"It's my driver, ma'am," the man answered, expression turning sour, "I can't find him."

Eleanor nodded solemnly; at her side, Betty twitched in anticipation, already foreseeing action of some kind. "And you're meant to be heading to the line?"

"Yes ma'am, second battalion's area."

"Right," Eleanor said, trying to ignore the little flutter of anxiety at the mention of that particular outfit. If the stretcher bearers were being called over to evacuate people, it meant they were more than likely still alive and not beyond saving. This didn't necessarily mean the worst. "Betty, grab Grace and take over for me?" she asked her second, searching her surroundings for her kit.

"You got it," Betty concurred, deftly catching on to what her CO was planning and setting off to find her coworker. In the meantime, Eleanor held out her hand to the medic expectantly.

"You, give me your keys."

"Captain?" he asked, puzzled.

"Keys, corporal," she repeated, tapping her foot impatiently, "I'm taking one of my team to the front. We'll pick up whatever casualties you were called in for."

"Is that wise-"

"A minute either way might make the difference between life or death," she reminded him, slinging her bag around her shoulder before sticking out her hand again. _Come on, buddy, help me out here. _"You ought to know that by now."

He handed over the keys to his jeep dutifully, even if he didn't seem any less hesitant about the entire thing. "But what am I supposed to do?"

Spotting Grace jogging over from the back of the building, Eleanor turned on her heel and made for the door, barely pausing to glance over her shoulder.

"Find O'Brian!"

It took them a matter of minutes to get to the back of the American lines, what little sun there was eclipsed by clouds of smoke, dirt and gunpowder as they neared the front. _Well, at least it's stopped raining_, Eleanor mused absentmindedly, scanning the horizon for any sign of the men they were meant to be picking up. Grace - next to her in the passengers seat - was the first to spot them, rising up slightly to point out the small group and forced to cling on to the windscreen as Eleanor turned the wheel toward them abruptly. Not that she didn't understand; she had recognized the men as quickly as her captain had, heart skipping a beat at the sight of them as surely as the older woman's had.

Eleanor parked the jeep less than a meter away from the troopers, leaving the engine running as she vaulted out from behind the wheel and, taking in the scene before her, addressed one of the medics tersely.

"Spina, what the hell?"

Her incredulity wasn't wholly unfounded. Ralph Spina was supporting a limping Private Herron while worriedly looking over at Shifty Powers where he was keeping pressure on the wound of a replacement - _the one who helped me at Nuenen,_ Eleanor recalled - and, in turn, sending sporadic, concerned glances over at Gene Roe- who, it seemed, was also wounded.

"Don't look at me," Spina complained, but the relief in his voice was evident, "I only just got here!"

_Ye Gods. Okay, first things first... _"You okay, Herron?" she asked the hobbling man, checking him over swiftly.

"Fine, Cap," he guaranteed her, and she nodded curtly. _One down._

"Get him into the jeep," she told Spina, gesturing at her subordinate to get to work. "Grace, take over from Shifty."

"Yes ma'am."

The replacement taken care of for the moment, Eleanor knelt down by Roe's side, searching for the source of the blood that was seeping into the mud beneath them. "Hey, Gene," she greeted, smiling up at him briefly, "Let's have a look, shall we?"

"Cap-" he began, struggling to get himself into a sitting position, "I need'cha to check on MacDonald-"

_MacDonald. Of course._ Gently but firmly pushing him back down, she squeezed his shoulder for a moment before focusing on the jagged wound she had discovered on his thigh. "Don't worry, Grace's got him," she soothed, tearing apart the fabric of his trousers to get a better look at his leg.

"What happened?" she asked of Shifty Powers, a little mystified as to what could have caused the type of injury she was being confronted with. It wasn't your typical kind of battlefield wound; she'd seen many types of injuries over her years in the field, and this was certainly not your average bullet-or-shrapnel deal. Anxiously watching her work, Shifty swallowed before beginning to explain what had happened.

"Well, ma'am, we was evacuating when the Krauts started shootin' at us-"

Eleanor frowned. "This isn't a bullet wound."

"No ma'am," Shifty nodded, seeming a little flabbergasted himself_, _"We, ah, we had to jump this barbed wire fence, you see, and I think someone musta hit him in the bag- knocked him right off his feet."

"And got his leg tangled in the wires," Eleanor worked out, wincing in sympathy and reapplying pressure to the gash. _Ouch. _

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Powers said, making her raise her eyes to his in astonishment. _What's he apologizing for? _He frowned remorsefully."I didn't even realize he was bleedin' until he just keeled over like that."

"It's all right, Shift, it isn't your fault," she reassured him, motioning at the towel she had pressed against the Cajun medic's leg. "Hold this." Once her hands were free, she dug around her bag for a package of sulfa. "D'you know if he hit his head when he fell?"

"Couldn't rightly say, ma'am."

Stirring underneath her touch, Roe dazedly shook his head. She'd almost forgotten he was even awake. "I don't-" he said, breaking off mid-sentence as though it were hard for him to focus, "I don't think I did."

"That's good," Eleanor encouraged, starting to get a bit concerned by just how dazed he seemed. If he really hadn't hit his head - thus discounting a concussion - and considering he didn't display any other signs of shock, it was somewhat odd for him to be this out of it. _It's almost as if he can't quite believe he got hit..._ "Anything else you remember that I should know about?"

"No."

Spina, having deposited Herron in the jeep, came running over, boots squelching in the sludge. He threw one look at Gene's leg and whistled low. "Jesus, Doc, what did you do t'yourself?"

"Barbed wire fence got in the way," Eleanor answered for him, sprinkling the antiseptic powder over the wound liberally. Spina shook his head.

"Fuck."

"Yeah," she agreed, lifting the limb carefully to tie a bandage around it, "He'll need stitches."

Again, Roe squirmed, this time in protest. "No- I can't leave-"

"You can and you will," Eleanor countered sternly, taking the other end of the dressing from Spina and knotting the two sides together. As much as the company relied on Roe, they would simply have to make do without him, at least for a few days; she wasn't about to let him aggravate his wound by overstraining himself. "Grace, how's MacDonald doing?"

"He's stable," the nurse called back, all of them ducking down when a shell hit a little too close for comfort. Straightening back out and studying her surroundings, Eleanor was quick to conclude that it was probably an artillery round that had overshot its mark rather than anything intentionally directed towards them. _Small mercies..._

"Bullet wound to the gut," Grace continued, only a little breathless from the sudden impact, "No major organs or vessels hit though."

"You ready to move?" Eleanor inquired, double checking the bindings on her patient's leg. They were secure, unlikely to move during transport; it was high time for them to get out of there.

"Should be."

"Okay," the captain said, taking a breath and making a final assessment of the situation before doling out her orders. "Spina."

"Ma'am!"

"Go give Grace a hand."

"Yes ma'am."

The unhurt medic darted off to do so, leaving Eleanor to look after Gene. "Shifty, you're with me," she told the sharpshooter, scooting over to one end while directing him towards the other. "Get his arms, I'll take the legs." Together, they managed to lift the two wounded men and hurried them towards the jeep, lowering them onto the stretchers attached to the vehicle.

"There we go- easy-" Eleanor urged, leaning sideways to help Shifty settle Roe down, "Careful with his head." Climbing back into the driver's seat as Grace bent over the windscreen to keep an eye on MacDonald, she twisted to address the remaining duo. "You two good to head back to the line?"

"Sure," Spina said, rearranging his supplies and readjusting the straps of his bags around his shoulders. Eleanor nodded.

"All right. Shifty, could you report what happened to Captain Winters?" _And please make sure he's okay while you're at it..._

"Of course, ma'am," Powers said, patting the hood of the car, "Be safe."

Eleanor released the break. "You too."

* * *

They got back to the aid station without too much trouble, unloading the wounded and handing MacDonald and Herron over to the surgeons. Eleanor, still worried by Roe's inexplicable stupor, took him to one of the smaller rooms close to her team's hub and sat him down, grabbing a suture kit before removing the bandage on his leg and cleaning the wound. Despite the lack of anesthesia and unpleasantness of any debridement he remained quiet throughout, flinching only slightly whenever the pain became too much. Eleanor contemplated the possibility that his silence was some sort of coping mechanism; always quiet to begin with, there was no physical cause she could find for this baffling bout of muteness, leaving a psychological reason as the only possible explanation left. He appeared to have retreated in on himself, speaking only when strictly necessary but staring at the wall opposite him otherwise, eyes troubled. It was as unnerving as it was uncanny.

Once she had finished disinfecting the cut, she unwrapped the surgical tools and smiled up at him. "Let's get you stitched up, huh?"

"Uh-huh," he murmured, still gazing past and away from her. She pressed her lips together momentarily, not sure how to deal with this subdued, unexpectedly vulnerable side of her normally strong and capable friend.

"I'm just going to give you some morphine to numb the pain," she informed him, administering the drug and seeing his eyes lose focus almost immediately. "There," she said softly, resting her hand on his knee, "Why don't you lie back, _cheri_, get some rest?"

He nodded vaguely. "Okay."

Sinking down against the armrest of the sofa she'd put him on, his eyelids began to flutter close of their own accord as he struggled to stay awake. Eleanor, noticing how sleepy he was, paused in her administrations and smiled at him warmly. "Go to sleep, Eugene," she murmured, realizing he must be bone-tired himself. She hadn't been the only one to have gotten little sleep of late.

Just as she was about to return to her stitching, he mumbled something unintelligible, head already drooping. Unable to understand what he'd said, Eleanor frowned and halted her work once more. "Sorry?"

"No one ever calls me that 'nymore," he said, voice suddenly very small, and her heart ached with the knowledge that he was right. It was always _Roe, _or _Doc_, maybe the occasional _Gene,_ but never his full name. She wondered how long it had been since he'd been called that, shuddered at how alienating it must have been in his already isolated - by choice or no - existence within the company. His was one of the heaviest burdens to bear, yet he bore it alone, and it saddened her to get a glimpse of its more harmful consequences.

"I know," she whispered sadly, reaching out a hand to smooth his hair back as he fell asleep at last, "I know."

* * *

Another day and night seemed to pass at a snail's pace, and Roe slept through most of both. Eleanor, though determined to talk to him once he had rested properly, was glad for it; the week or so they had spent in Holland felt like a lot longer, and she had a feeling they'd be sticking around for a while yet despite Market-Garden having come to an end. He would need all the energy he could get, and this way at least his leg would have a chance to heal without the risk of him pushing himself too far. It wasn't ideal - she wasn't wild about the idea of Easy being down to one medic, for one - but it would do for now.

It was on the afternoon of the second day that word arrived of second battalion's imminent return to Uden. Casualties had been coming in fairly steadily since the action had begun; Strayer's men had run into German tanks and other artillery and it had cost them. Nevertheless, they had pushed back the salient across the highway as ordered, and now it seemed they would be falling back to the town from where they had set out to begin with. It was a small victory, but those seemed all they were capable of at the moment and like with so many things 'good enough' was the most they could realistically ask for. _At least it isn't all out defeat, _Eleanor caught herself thinking as she headed out during one of the rare dry spells. _Thousands dead and even more wounded, never mind the loss of material, and an operation that is nothing if not unsuccessful. If this doesn't constitute as a defeat, then what the hell does?_

Sighing, she crossed her arms and tilted her face towards the warmth of the setting autumn sun, closing her eyes in what she hoped would be a moment of respite. She'd been working on intelligence issues just about none stop since she had brought Roe in, attempting to anticipate German troop movements and trying not to despair at the way they were hitting the Allied forces from both flanks at once. Though there would be plenty more to do when the men came back, their return made for a welcome break from the gloomy decoder room, and she had told her team to use the opportunity to go out and get some air as well. A few of them were standing nearer to the aid station, not as trusting of the weather as she was, talking quietly amongst themselves as she waited in the middle of the square- for the men or the rain, whichever came first.

"Captain?" a voice stirred her from her brief repose, and she opened her eyes and turned her head to see Allen Vest next to her, looking bemused. "What are you standing out here for, ma'am?"

"Second battalion's due in soon," she explained pointlessly, only remembering he probably knew already when the words had left her mouth, "I just want to make sure their wounded are seen to."

Vest lifted his eyes towards the dark clouds gathering rapidly overhead. "But what if it starts to rain again?"

"Oh, it probably will," Eleanor said wryly, smiling down at the mailman. He mirrored her grin easily.

"Ain't that the truth," he chuckled, producing an envelope from his pocket and handing it to her, "Got a letter for you, ma'am."

_Hold on- a letter? _"Really?" she asked, frowning as she took the missive from him. The writing on the cover was neat, feminine, and there was some kind of watermark on the corner that she couldn't quite make out in this light.

"Yeah," Vest reaffirmed, watching as she turned the item over in her hands and studied it closely. "From England, looks like."

She hummed under her breath, more than a tad nonplussed by this unforeseen delivery. "Strange."

"You're not expecting any?"

"Not particularly, no," she said, mentally ticking off a list of people it could have come from. The private was right in that it had come from Britain, so it couldn't be from Philip; any of her old friends seemed unlikely as well, considering they hadn't a clue what division she was attached to, which left those of her American friends confined to a hospital - but then the handwriting didn't match up. _Bizarre. _"Thanks, Vest."

"You're welcome, ma'am," he said, saluting her quickly before retreating inside and leaving her to stare at the envelope. She was in the process of opening it when she heard the unmistakeable tread of marching soldiers and, looking up, could just see the first of the battalion arrive around the corner. They looked miserable, soaked to the bone and covered in dirt, postures slumped even as they marched perfectly in step with each other. Stuffing the letter back into her own pocket and whistling at her team, she signaled them to come along and help her out.

It felt like they'd need a miracle before any of the troopers would be dry again.

* * *

It didn't take a miracle, in the end - just a lot of towels and patience. By the time all of the men had been seen to and settled, evening had fallen and the mandatory blackout put into effect. Eleanor withdrew to the her little office in the attic, drawing the curtains and lighting a few candles, wanting to get some more work done before bed. While the table in the middle of the room had been cleared, there were still whole stacks of documents on the desk in the corner that had been left behind by the Jedburgh team. Sorting through them would take some time but was a necessary task, and so she set to it resignedly, rifling through and reorganizing the papers in an attempt to restore some order to the chaos. _Maps on the left, enemy dispositions on the right, code work in the middle... where am I going to leave the resistance reports..._

She was so caught up in the job that she nearly missed the knock on the door, scarcely looking up to acknowledge it. "Yeah?" she called distractedly, narrowing her eyes at the document in her hands as she tried to decide which pile to put it with. Who ever had knocked trotted up the stairs, faltering at the top of them when they found her preoccupied.

"Ellie."

Head snapping up, she twisted around to find Dick standing a few feet away, expression hesitant as though he wasn't sure she'd be willing to see him. "Hey!" she exclaimed, pleasantly surprised; while she hadn't expected him, his presence was rarely an unwelcome one. If anything, it'd been a good few days since she had seen him last and she was glad to have him there. "Come in- sorry, let me just-" Turning back to the desk, she shuffled some last papers into place, aiming to leave it tidy enough for her to return to at a later time without too much trouble.

The floorboards squeaked and without warning his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her close. Her breath caught at the sudden contact, but she leaned back against his chest with a smile not long after, reports slipping from her fingers as she covered his hands with her own. "Hey."

"Hey," he echoed tenderly, pressing a kiss to her cheek and tightening his grasp a little. "How are you doing?"

"Not too badly," she said, tipping her head back against his shoulder as he rested his chin on hers, "You?"

"Same," he murmured, content to simply stand there for a moment and hold her. The mission to the south of Veghel had been drawn out and dangerous and he was as troubled about the recent turn of events as she was, but there was a certain comfort in having her near and knowing they were both all right- if only for the time being.

"You're remarkably dry," she observed, shifting slightly and glancing back at him. Towels notwithstanding, the men she had left behind earlier had been damp at best; an improvement from their previous condition, to be sure, but definitely not as dry as he appeared to be.

He ducked his head and smiled crookedly. "I changed earlier," he admitted, letting her turn in his arms until they were face to face, "How's the doc?" To his consternation, her face darkened fleetingly, but then the smile returned and she reached up to fuss over his lapels.

"Better," she said, running her thumb over the infantry badge on his collar, "He's been asleep, mostly, but I already had to stop him from getting up and seeing to my patients the second he was awake."

Winters exhaled steadily, mouth subconsciously pulled to one side. "I can't say I'm surprised," he reflected, all too familiar with his medic's endless dedication to his job. Looking up when Eleanor nuzzled her nose against his jaw, he ran a gentle hand down her spine, their eyes meeting. "Any word from division?"

"Nothing yet," she said, brows furrowing, "They're going to have to make a decision soon, though. Even they can't dawdle forever."

"Hm," he breathed, about to ask her what she thought would be their next move when she pressed her lips against his. He wound a hand into her hair, groaning softly - and wholly unintentionally - when she clung to him, her knees feeling weak when he deepened the kiss. God, she'd missed him. The desire to have him close was overwhelming, the yearning to never let him go again even more so. Her heart sped and her stomach somersaulted, utterly betraying the calm she'd intended to keep throughout the evening. _Oh, please, don't stop._

But stop was exactly what they did when another knock resounded through the loft, followed swiftly by hurried footsteps dashing up the stairs. When Evelyn Williams stepped into her CO's office she blushed ferociously, looking between the two flustered officers at the other side of the room and instantly aware she'd just intruded on a private moment. Eleanor, clearing her throat and straightening herself a little awkwardly as Dick looked anywhere but at her, turned to her subordinate.

"What is it, Ev?"

"You'd better come outside, ma'am," the nurse said tentatively, cringing when a scowl flickered past Eleanor's countenance.

_Can I not? _"What's going on?" she asked, straining her ears to hear if she could pick up anything besides the drip of the rain on the roof. Evelyn fidgeted.

"I- I don't rightly know how to describe it, but-" she pulled at the end of her braid uneasily, a nervous habit Eleanor had seen her display many times before; none of those occasions had been good. Whatever it was, this did not bode well. "You'll want to see it for yourself."

"All right," Eleanor conceded, snatching her helmet from the table and redirecting her gaze towards her partner for a moment. "Dick?"

"I'll see you later," he said, neither of them sure when that would be, but the tiny quirk of his lips reassured her that despite the embarrassment of being caught kissing like a couple of teenagers, he would see her when he could.

"Okay," she smiled, following Evelyn down the stairs and out of the building, the steady rain soaking her within seconds of her stepping outside. Not entirely sure what she was meant to be looking at, she turned to her younger friend and followed her direction when she pointed down the road to their left in silence. What Eleanor saw there had her catching her breath all over again, albeit for completely different reasons this time.

"Dear God."

* * *

**A bit of a shorter chapter than usual - especially compared to the last one I left you with! - but between my vacation turning out busier than anticipated and my participation in the War-A-Thon over on Tumblr, this took a lot longer than I'd intended. I do hope it's all right. Apologies once again for the ridiculously long wait! I've got the dialogue for the next few chapters done, at least, so updates should hopefully be quicker.**

**Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews and messages, by the way - you guys are amazing and your continued support means an awful lot! Do read and review!**


	30. Sing As We Go

**Disclaimer: this story is based chiefly on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.**

* * *

"Dear God."

Following Evelyn's directions as the younger woman pointed down Uden's main street, Eleanor felt her breath catch involuntarily. Contrasted against the dreary grey that seemed to have consumed most of the landscape were vivid streaks of red, one after the other, forming a strange, quivering sort of chain that slithered towards them slowly. _Berets_, she realized, blinking away the raindrops that clung to her eyelashes, _it's the Red Devils_. Not just a few of them, either: there was an entire procession of British paratroopers headed their way, trudging along the road into town wearily, their shoulders stooped with exhaustion and their uniforms soiled with blood and gore as well as the ongoing rainfall. Their caps - perhaps poignantly - seemed to be the only thing about them that retained any trace of color, of vitality; rarely had she seen such an utterly defeated-looking group of men. Indeed, the last time she'd encountered such a ghastly sight had been after the Dunkirk evacuation - fitting, really, as this current retreat was certainly no less calamitous.

"_Drop thy still dews of quietness, till all our strivings cease..._"

The broken strands of a well-loved hymn swept past her, carried along on the cold autumn wind, and she shivered at the sound of it._ In times of adversity, the British fall back on two age old traditions: one is tea. The other is song._ She bit her lip uneasily, the full weight of what had been lost these past weeks suddenly weighing down on her with a vengeance. _They're singing_. It had been no secret, of course, that their casualties had been severe and far larger in number than those among the Americans; the British dropzones had been among the northern most ones and they had been cut off entirely from the reinforcements coming from the south. It was a miracle any of them had made it out at all; those who weren't dead or too badly wounded to move had been very graciously allowed to retreat by the Germans, a gesture that had been as surprising as it was humane. Without it, Eleanor wasn't sure any of the Brits would have made it back alive.

Now, staring at the long lines of men making for the relative safety and comfort of the 506th's headquarters with their tail between their proverbial legs, her head was spinning with the repercussions of an operation gone wrong. It would take weeks if not months to recover from this, both in terms of men and materiel as well as morale and strategy. One ill-planned mission might have just brought the entire European advance to an abrupt halt, grinding to a stop as its commanders' overconfidence betrayed them. More than ever before, she was unsure of what would happen next. _God help us if we end up with a stalemate along the Siegfried Line, forced to dig in once again..._

Besides her, Evelyn was equally unsettled by what they were seeing. "It looks like something out of the bible," she remarked, awe-struck, and Eleanor had to agree there were some uncanny resemblances to the Old Testament's scenes of exile.

"Those poor men," Anne added quietly, joining them out in the rain, arms folded across her chest in an attempt to stave off its permeating chill. Nodding slowly, Eleanor glanced over her shoulder and back towards the aid station. The medics who had stayed indoors were already preparing for casualties, but she knew the wounded would need to be triaged, sorted into groups, send to the appropriate stations; someone would have to do it, and something had to be done.

"Yeah," she breathed, making up her mind and turning to her team gravely, "Grab your gear. Follow me."

Their response was plain and unwavering. "Yes ma'am."

"_Take from our souls the strain and stress, and let our ordered lives confess..."_

They leapt into action as though they were one person rather than nine individuals, hurrying towards the first wave of soldier as they drew ever closer to them. The weary troopers that greeted them were a rag-tag bunch, enlisted men and officers alike, young and old and entirely out of formation; it was an indication of the severity of the situation, if nothing else. Usually so insistent upon order and neatness amongst their ranks, the Brits wouldn't have stood for this kind of chaos in any other situation. Eleanor went from man to man, whispering words of comfort, reassuring them that they were safe now - whatever 'safe' meant these days - and that things would be all right. She fell back into her old English accent almost on instinct, quickly working out that her patients seemed to respond to it better, clinging to the familiar cadence like a beacon on a stormy night.

Catching sight of one particularly boyish-looking lad where he had stopped in the middle of the street, staring around himself dazedly, she stepped towards him to see if there was anything she could do for him. "Hey there, soldier," she hailed him, garnering no response from him until she reached out a cautious hand and clasped his shoulder.

Shell-shock widened eyes turned towards her slowly. "M-m'am," the private stuttered, teeth chattering with the cold, the bruises on his face standing out sharply against the pallor of his skin. He struck her as though he hadn't had a proper night's sleep or a decent meal in weeks rather than days.

Barely managing a smile - _God, why does it always have to be the young ones? _- she assessed him surreptitiously, noticing a bandage around his chest that was soaked through in more ways than one. Impossible as it was to guess what kind of injury it was covering, the wound was definitely bleeding and needed attention. "That looks like it hurts," she remarked gently, tilting her head towards the dressings. To her dismay, he merely shook his head a little.

"It isn't so bad, ma'am."

_Jesus. Really? _"Did they give you something for it?" she asked, edging closer to him and brushing a bit of hair away from where it was plastered against his temple, her fingers sweeping past another nick - no long bleeding if not yet fully healed - that ran into his hairline.

"N-no, ma'am," he frowned, actually seeming surprised by her question, "They only give morphia to the boys who are very badly off, you see."

She couldn't help but flinch then. _So they ran out of supplies, too. _"I see," she repeated softly, still wary to let go of his shoulder; she feared he might just topple over if she did, he seemed so shaky. "Why don't you come with me, private?" she suggested, eager to get him inside where she'd be able to care for him properly, "We'll look after you. Get you cleaned up, maybe a hot meal and a towel."

There was a faint hint of humor in the boy's too-large eyes. "Or two towels, ma'am."

The self-deprecating observation caught her off guard and she found the smile she had initially forced for his benefit smoothing into a genuine one. "Or two towels," she agreed, wrapping an arm around his skinny shoulders and leading him off towards the clinic. The building was already bustling with men, all of them in various states of being completely drenched, but only a few of them unharmed; in the midst of it all, Eleanor guided her charge towards an unoccupied bench at the end of the foyer.

"Here, have a seat," she encouraged him kindly, helping him lower himself down onto the bench before reaching to grab a blanket and wrapping it around his trembling torso. As he huddled up in the wool covering, she scanned the area to see if there was anyone who'd be able to take over from her. Hesitant as she was to leave this brave boy, there were so many more men to look after, to care for; she had to keep moving, had to supervise, had to keep track of the bigger picture. She couldn't afford to dawdle here.

Spotting one of her team rushing by, she whistled and waved the other girl down deftly. "Judy."

"Captain?" the shorter nurse asked, coming over as requested and immediately taking stock of what was going on. She barely missed a beat, expression rapidly turning to understanding, and not for the first time Eleanor marveled at how far they'd come in a year.

"This is-" the captain said, shaking her head swiftly for a moment when she remembered she had no idea what the soldier was even called. "What's your name?"

"It's Tom, ma'am," he croaked in response, still trying to pull the blanket tighter around himself, "Tom Reed."

_We'll need more of those blankets,_ Eleanor thought vaguely, studying a repaired patch on the olive drab fabric and making a mental note to find some as soon as she possibly could. "Tom, this is Judy," she introduced them, not needing to explain matters to her subordinate any further, "She'll take care of you, all right?"

The private nodded, hesitant to see her leave but too worn out to even consider protesting, and Eleanor gave his shoulder a final squeeze before doing the same to her friend. "Thanks, Judy."

"Not a problem," Judy assured her boss, smiling at her fleetingly before kneeling down in front of the British soldier. "Hey, Tom, how are you doing?"

Satisfied that he was in good hands, Eleanor pivoted and faced the rest of the foyer, taking in the soaked figures scurrying among what had once been a reasonably high-end room. Now, the floor was covered with mud tracks and bloody trails, dirty dressings laying abandoned on a chest of drawers and every possible surface - chairs, tables, one particularly ornate settee - occupied by a wounded man. It was a peculiar mixture of civilian and military life, and she had to close her eyes briefly to bite back an unexpected wave of disheartenment. Somewhere, someone was still singing.

"_The beauty of thy peace... the beauty of thy peace."_

In that very moment, surrounded by the aftermath of a disastrous campaign, peace felt further away than ever.

* * *

Time ticked on, and evening turned into night as the rain continued to fall. Things at the aid station had begun to quiet down only slowly and Eleanor had sent her girls to sleep in shifts, dismissing those who'd had the least rest in recent days before the others. For her part, she lingered among the darkened corridors of the field hospital, checking on patients and listening to their stories, trying to piece together a picture of exactly what had happened. It was sad if telling that she was able to learn more from talking to various grade officers than she had been able to from hours upon hours of intelligence work and unclear communiques.

By the time she had managed to gain a fairly good insight into the workings and failings of the northern forces, tiredness was beginning to take its toll and she was considering going to bed. Slipping through the kitchens - filled to the brim with wounded personnel, as all of the rooms were - she went back into the hallway and headed up the stairs, about to let herself unwind a little when she spotted a lone figure further up the steps. Curled up against the wall and probably thinking the shadows would conceal him, she could just make out his insignia and the shining tear tracks on his open, friendly face; he reminded her of Clarence Hester somewhat, albeit a decidedly more British version.

"Major?" she called discreetly, not wanting to alert anyone else to his distress and climbing a few more steps until she'd gotten his attention, "Are you all right, sir?"

He looked up at her in bewilderment, dashing at his eyes hurriedly - ashamedly - and nodding his head. "Yes, I-" he began, falling quiet again mid-sentence as he looked up at her and frowned, "I could have sworn you were English."

_Ah, bother. _"I am, sir," she explained, noticing too late that she'd gone back to her American lilt, "Well, that is to say, half-English, half-American."

Something like recognition dawned in the officer's eyes, and for a moment Eleanor grew concerned, but then he smiled feebly. "And you're the nurse who saved my friend's life."

_Of course, _she thought, now getting a better look at the man's face and recognizing him from earlier that night. "The captain with the neck wound," she worked out, recalling how a single removed bandage had unplugged a torn blood vessel and had brought the man dangerously close to bleeding out, "I remember."

"I never got to thank you," the major said guiltily, staring down at his hands. Eleanor shrugged, knowing he'd had other things on his mind - most predominantly his second-in-command almost dying right in front of him - and not at all faulting him for his lapse in civility.

"Just doing my job, sir," she said frankly, tilting her head when she caught on to the way he was cradling his arm against himself, obviously favoring it. _How did I not notice that before? _"Has your arm been seen to yet, sir?" she asked, moving down onto the steps besides him carefully, trying to get a better look.

"No," he admitted, "My men-"

She smiled up at him compassionately. _Bless his heart, and so much for sleep. _"They're being looked after, sir," she reassured him, "Let me help you."

It took him a moment to agree to it; she could nearly see his mind whir and work, options being considered and alternatives weighed. "Yes," he said at length, "Yes, I suppose- all right." He fell silent after that, staring off into the dim room below as she worked, speaking up only when she was almost ready to wrap his wound up with fresh bandages.

"Have you heard about the camps?"

Her fingers hesitated over the injury, her heart pounding in her chest. Chances were she'd heard more about the camps than he had; to most Allied soldiers, they were simple rumors, stories that may or may not turn out to be true in their atrocity. Eleanor, on the other hand, had lost colleagues to them, had seen the reports and accounts about the horrors that lay hidden in the German and German-occupied countryside. It seemed strange for him to bring them up now.

"I have," she said, purposefully vague, continuing her bandaging as calmly as she could. What on earth was he getting at?

The major swallowed thickly, throat working, turning towards her with downright frightened eyes. "I had to leave men behind," he muttered under his breath, "I had to- I _abandoned_ them." His hand grabbed hold of her arm without warning, startling her almost to the point where she was reaching for her weapon. "What if the Bosche take them to one of those camps? What if-" The man's voice was getting steadily higher, panic seizing at him, and Eleanor wasn't sure whether to be relieved that his question hadn't held any more troublesome motives or to be moved to pity by his obvious distress.

"They won't," she soothed, "They'll most likely be taken to a camp for POWs, which are reasonable by all accounts." Covering the officer's clammy hand with her own, she waited until he met her eyes before finishing her sentence. "The Germans have honored the Geneva Conventions so far. Your boys will be fine, sir."

That seemed to satisfy him and she watched the hysteria recede, ebbing away as his jaw unclenched and his breathing evened. She smiled consolingly as his fingers tightened around hers briefly, understanding his fear and worry all too well; it was only natural that he'd be concerned about his men, given the circumstances. Though he made a point of thanking her promptly this time, he was otherwise taciturn, letting her finish her job in peace and gladly taking her advice to get some rest once she had. They parted ways soon after, he heading down, she going up, stretching her back until her spine cracked when she reached the top of the stairs and began the walk down the hall.

The passageway was dark, the only illumination the faint flicker of light coming from underneath one of the doors, and Eleanor grabbed a flashlight from her pocket before climbing up to the even gloomier loft. Her routine before bed was simple enough: light one of the small oil lamps, get out of gear and place it within reach, change into the PT shirt and shorts that doubled as nightwear, brush out her hair and wash her face. The last proved to be problematic; the primitive bowl and pitcher she'd been using both turned out to be all but empty, and she sighed wearily before shrugging back into her uniform jacket and putting her boots back on. There was a bathroom downstairs - an exceptional luxury in itself, given that indoor plumbing was far from being a given around these parts - but she was annoyed at herself for not thinking to refill it earlier. _Should have remembered._

Clambering back down the ladder between the two levels, precariously balancing the jug in one hand while holding on to the wooden steps with the other, she almost dropped the ceramic when a door opened further down the hallway and a beam of light penetrated the darkness. Along with it came Nancy Campbell, also in PT wear, a hairbrush in her hand. Eleanor recognized it as belonging to Sara; Nancy, having only just retired herself, had probably borrowed it from her colleague.

"Oh!" she exclaimed upon seeing Eleanor, ducking her head when she realized she'd been louder than intended and closing the door quickly, "Sorry- is everything-"

Her superior smiled warmly. "Go to bed, Nance," she whispered, jerking her head towards the next room over as she stepped down onto the floor. _You'd have thought I caught her in the midst of a crime by the way she's behaving..._

Campbell mirrored her smile, giving a tiny half-hearted salute before sliding into her own quarters. Eleanor watched her go, still smiling as she ambled along the hall, but the feeling faded when a thought struck her out of the blue. While her team were technically members of the US Army, their covert work might draw into question their status as a prisoner of war if it ever came down to it. She'd known this all along, needless to say, but the recent reminder of the camps had her stomach in knots. What if they ever got captured and ended up in one of those dreadful places? They might be tortured, mistreated, killed in the most painful manner possible- Christ knew it had happened before- what if-

She froze halfway to the bathroom, having to put down the pitcher on a nearby dresser because her hands were shaking too damn much._ Breathe. Of course they won't be captured, they're surrounded by the men day and night. You're just tired and overreacting. _She inhaled slowly, leaning her forehead against the wall. _Breathe._ Gradually, she regained her shattered composure somewhat, but she could not deny that the events of the evening - the endless amount of wounded men, the backlash of Market-Garden falling apart, the conversation about the camps - had left her shaken. It had been a long time coming, really; the lack of rest combined with the strains of a failing campaign and the still recent loss of one of her own were beginning to overwhelm her.

Along with it, inexplicably, came the urge to find Dick. As irrational as it was, it felt like he would make it right somehow, that being near him would help; she yearned for him, longed for his embrace, and before she even fully grasped what she was doing, she was stalking down the rest of the hallway and down the stairs, the pitcher long since forgotten. Sidestepping her British patients where they rested in the downstairs area, she made for the door quickly, cool air caressing her face as she stepped outside. Her eyes adjusted to the dark within seconds, used as she was to nighttime missions, and neither the cold nor the fact that it was no longer raining truly registered; the urge to get to the officers' billet was too strong. She crept across the street and into the unfamiliar building, trying to remember which room was his, nearly getting it wrong twice before she found the right chamber and entered it without second thought.

It was then - and only then - that she returned to herself, the previous frenzy dying down as the door creaked in protest behind her. A beam of moonlight peeked through the thinning clouds and fell between the curtains, illuminating the still shape of Dick Winters where he was stretched out on the bed in the middle of the room. His arms were folded behind his head, chest rising and falling steadily, and Eleanor couldn't stop the surge of guilt that ran through her at how vulnerably peaceful he looked. _God, what was I thinking, barging in like this. _None of them had had an awful lot of sleep lately and she was loathe to disturb him, yet the burning desire for comfort, for warmth - while lessened by the return of clear thought - was still overpowering, and for once, it won out. Berating herself for being so selfish even as she tiptoed across the room, she stiffened when he stirred and rolled over onto his side, clearly not out of it enough not to notice her presence.

"Hm," he mumbled, voice raspy with sleep, blue eyes blinking up at her blearily. Thin eyebrows furrowed into a frown as his vision cleared and he recognized the outline of her silhouette. "Ellie?"

"Yeah, it's me," she replied softly, walking over towards the bed and sitting down on the edge of the mattress gingerly. In an instant he was struggling to get up, running a hand through uncharacteristically - if wholly endearingly - mussed hair, his expression clouded with concern. As far as he knew, something surely had to be wrong for her to be in his room at this time of night.

Smiling faintly, she shook her head before he so much as had the chance to speak and motioned at him to lie back down. "Shh, it's all right."

"What's wrong?" he asked regardless, settling for propping himself up on his elbows and watching her bend down to untie her mud-splattered Corcorans. Her pale, bare legs - and he blushed a bit to notice she was wearing little besides her old PT gear - were flecked with goosebumps, a shiver running along her spine every so often though it almost seemed as if she didn't notice.

"Nothing," she whispered, yanking off her boots before moving to shrug out of her jacket, but he knew her too well to believe what she was saying. Even in the limited light, he could see the dark, bruise-like circles under her eyes and the way her muscles were more than commonly tense. She looked all at once exhausted and on edge, a combination that meant she'd either just had a nightmare or had pushed herself beyond her own limits again. Whichever the case, it troubled him, and he wondered idly if she would ever get rid of the unhealthy habit - or the bad dreams.

"C'mere," he murmured, lifting the blanket in a silent invitation for her to join him. She did so with a grateful quirk of her lips, nestling her back into his chest as he settled his arm around her waist and pulled her close. Skin grazed skin as their legs intertwined beneath the covers, both of them keenly aware of the touch but too weary to act on it; for now, all they really wanted was to be close to each other, and to rest. Winters tilted his head so he could press his lips against her shoulder, silently fascinated by the way her previously cold skin began to warm as she nuzzled further into his hold. With Dick's heart beating reassuringly against her back and his slow breaths warming her neck, Eleanor settled down to sleep a last, her last waking thought that this felt suspiciously like home.

* * *

"Morning, beautiful!"

It was nearing 6am and the sun had only just begun to rise, yet Eleanor had already snuck back to the aid station to get changed, lest her absence be noticed - or her presence discovered. Thankfully, neither seemed to have happened. Stealth training, as it turned out, had been good for more than just getting around occupied France. Having checked in with her girls and instructed Betty to let them sleep for another hour, she returned to the men's side of the street, eager to spend some time with them; she'd only briefly seen them the day before once they'd returned from Veghel, and even less of them in the days before then. Now that they were back, she intended to at least check up on them and make sure they were all right.

"Morning," she greeted Harry Welsh where he was leaning against the door frame of the officers' billet, hunk of bread in hand and eyes alert despite the early hour. For all his inherent mischief, Welsh was a good XO, generally up before his men were and set for the day by the time they were awake. Chances were he'd already talked to Dick and done any number of odd jobs before she ran into him. "Sleep well?"

"Like a baby," he grinned, tearing off a piece of the bread and happily stuffing it into his mouth, "You?"

She thought back to the way she'd woken to the feeling of Dick stroking her hair that morning, how she'd rolled around in his arms until she could see him smile down at her sleepily, and felt the corners of her lips tug up of their own accord. It had been worth the risk. "Very well, thanks," she said, picking at a fleck of dried blood that stuck stubbornly to her cuticle, "You got time for some coffee?"

"Probably not," Welsh sighed, swallowing down another bite of food, "Got a briefing at battalion at 0600."

Eleanor frowned and peeked down at her watch - sure enough, it was in fact a few minutes _past_ six, but when she looked back up at Harry he didn't seem aware of that fact. Shaking her head, she stepped forward to peck him on the cheek, grabbing the remaining piece of bread from his hands while she did so. "That would be now."

As she headed inside to search for breakfast, she could just hear Harry splutter to himself before swearing loudly and setting off at a run in the opposite direction. Chuckling quietly, Eleanor went into the kitchen and grabbed whatever was in plain view; another slice of bread, some cheese - milder than most French varieties and decidedly less moldy, but certainly more appetizing than the German version - and a tin cup full of the lukewarm coffee someone else had thoughtfully left behind. It wasn't much, but it would have to do. The billet seemed all but deserted anyway, the majority of the officers likely either at the briefing or with their companies, and Eleanor was back out the door and making for the outhouse Easy was staying in within minutes.

The sound of their laughter and quiet conversation echoed between the buildings, making her smile and luring her closer. She was glad they finally seemed to have been given some time off; the past week had been an almost constant struggle with a largely underestimated enemy and endlessly foul weather. There were only so many days of combat and strain a man could take. To hear them relaxed and joking around - no matter how short-lived the respite might be - put her mind at ease somewhat. Grabbing the latch to the heavy wooden door, she heaved it aside and slunk into the barn, smiling fondly when George Luz immediately hollered a welcome.

"Heeey, Captain!" he called, grin as bright as ever when a few of the newer members of the company jumped up and stood at attention dutifully. The old guard knew that Eleanor wouldn't expect them do so, not at that very moment in any case, but the replacements didn't seem to have caught onto that quite yet. Looking around, Eleanor realized it was only first and parts of third platoon who were currently off duty and in their quarters, and that Babe - despite being new - had remained seated. _Always knew he'd integrate quickly..._

"At ease," she told them, trying her darndest not to smirk as horribly as Luz currently was; the poor kids would have to live down enough of the men's taunting without her joining in. "Morning, boys."

There was a chorus of "morning, ma'am" and "hey, Ellie" as she ambled over and settled down among the men, tossing a spare pack of cigarettes at Perconte and sharing a bit of her cheese with Pat Christenson. She was digging through her pocket for a lighter when her hand brushed past a piece of paper she hadn't expected to find there. _Strange. I thought I'd put Chris' drawings in my footlocker._ Pulling it out, she unfolded the smallish rectangle until she found herself looking at the front of an envelope, the neat, feminine handwriting sprawled across it declaring it as addressed to Lieutenant Eleanor Fairfax.

_Right, the mystery missive. _In all of the chaos of the previous night, she'd all but forgotten about the message Vest had handed her not long before the men had returned, but now her interest was renewed and she was once more left to wonder who on earth could have sent it. Eyes narrowing, she brushed her thumb past the corner of the cover and studied the printed emblem carefully. _91st General Hospital._ _Huh. _She racked her brain for people she might know who worked there and would use its stationery; had one of her old platoon chosen to become a ward sister, perhaps? If not, who else would have thought to write to her, and why? Clearly they had no idea about her promotion - that much was certain, if nothing else.

The men around her paid her little heed as she tore open the envelope and withdrew its contents, eager to discover what would be in it. Her eyes skimmed the page. _Dear Lieutenant Fairfax_, it began, though the sentence had been crossed through and, by the looks of it, so had several others; whoever had written it had been frugal, choosing to correct their mistakes rather than begin anew. She shook her head slightly and read on.

_Dear Ellie, _

_A nice nurse by the name of Isabel is writing this for me (hello!) as my arms are still too hurt to write. She's been good to me - almost as good as your girls. (Ed tells me they're quite something.) I'm in a hospital somewhere in England now (Oxford) and it isn't so bad. They give me chicken and ice cream almost every day and my wounds are healing up well enough. The doctors say it's a miracle I'm alive. Don't I know it! _

Eleanor paused and pressed a hand to her mouth in shock. _Ed. Ed Tipper? _She swallowed convulsively and glanced down at the bottom of the page to confirm her suspicion. _Oh God, it is. _He was alive - darling Eddie Tipper who'd danced with her on Christmas eve and had played around in the snow like a child that very same day - was alive. Alive and getting _better_, even. When she thought about it she'd never really expected him to not to, but he had disappeared from their lives so entirely and so long ago that she'd all but forgotten about his plight. Biting down on her lip, she was torn between feeling disgusted with herself that she'd pushed him to the back of her mind like that, and being utterly relieved to know that he'd be okay.

_The truth of it is, it might still hurt like a son of a (sorry lieutenant), but that's not the worst of it. I miss Easy like hell, Ellie. To think that they're still out there, going through God knows what- it's not good on a guy. I wish I could be there with them, you know? What if they need me and I'm not there? I don't- _

The last two words had been crossed through again, as though Tipper had broken off his dictation halfway along. _Oh, Tip. _She could only imagine what he must feel like, confined to a bed and all by himself after years of having lived in close quarters with the rest of the company. Even through the letter, he sounded desperately lonely, and Eleanor felt her heart ache at the thought of him alone in that Oxford hospital.

_Anyway, I wanted to tell you thanks. I don't remember much of Carentan, but I remember you were there, telling me it would be all right. I was more scared than I've ever been in my life, but hearing your voice made it better somehow. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been there._

_Well, I have no idea when or even if this will reach you, but I hope it does and that it finds you well. Say hello to Annie and Katie for me, and of course the rest of the fellas. Tell Joe to keep his cool and get me another one of those flags. When all of this is over, I hope to see you all again. Until then, I remain_

_Your obedient friend,_

_Ed Tipper_

Pressing her eyes shut, Eleanor forced herself to breathe through a sudden swell of grief. He didn't know. Christ, of course he didn't. How could he, given that he'd been wounded well before Katie had been killed? Chances were he had no idea about Joe's dark moods or Anne's quiet grief, nor indeed any of the casualties after Carentan; like her promotion to captain, they were things that had slipped him by, things which he would probably remain oblivious to for quite some time if not until the end of the war. She couldn't blame him for it, not by any means, but the memory of what had been lost was a painful one.

Exhaling softly, she opened her eyes and noticed the post script.

_Nurse Welch (Isabel) here - I fear composing this has quite worn out our mutual friend and I had to insist he keep it short. He tires easily as of yet, but though it'll be a long haul, a full recovery is expected. No doubt there'll be more letters in the future; he was insistent upon writing this, despite everything. If his stories are anything to go by the regiment you are assigned to - and, indeed, your own unit - are the very best. I hope with all my heart that this proves to be right and will not be deprived of any further friends. Godspeed to you all, Lieutenant Fairfax._

She had to smile at that; whoever this Isabel girl was, she seemed like a sweet thing, and it gladdened Eleanor to know Tipper had _some_ companionship, at least. Lost in thought as she was, she didn't notice that the men had begun to stare at her until Luz piped up from his spot atop a bale of hay.

"Whatcha reading there, Ellie?"

"A letter," she responded distractedly, continuing to reread passages of the letter and mull them over. Hushed laughter rose from around the area.

"No shit," Luz countered drily, amusement evident in his tone, "Who from?"

"Ed Tipper."

The assembled men fell abruptly silent at the mention of the name, and one could have heard a pin drop for how eerily quiet it was. Looking up from the message, Eleanor was startled to see the mixed expressions of shock and mild hostility aimed towards her.

"That ain't even funny, captain," Bull Randleman rumbled, speaking - it seemed - on behalf of most of the men present. Eleanor shook her head avidly.

"No, really, it is," she insisted. To her surprise, it was Cobb who spoke next, tucked away in one of the far corners of the room.

"Tipper's alive?"

"Alive and recovering," Eleanor said, smiling faintly, "Here." She passed the letter to Talbert where he was sprawled out nearby, watching as he snatched it from her eagerly and the men crowded around him to get a look themselves.

"Jesus," Perconte exclaimed soon after, leaning back and gesturing at Luz to join them. Talbert, handing the papers over to Dukeman in turn, whistled low.

"Always knew the kid was tough."

"Hey, George," Skinny Sisk called out, beaming at his friend as he slung his arm around Hoobler's shoulders triumphantly, "Remember the time you got Sobel to cut that fence?"

"Yeah!" Luz shouted back, jumping down and having to raise his voice to be heard over the steadily growing buzz, "Whole thing almost fell flat 'cause Tip couldn't keep his damn face straight."

Eleanor smirked, grin only widening when Pat Christenson warmly squeezed her arm once he'd had his go at reading the letter. "Hell of a guy," he commented, giving the papers to Kiehn as he joined his assistant machine gunner at the table.

"Shit pokerface, though," Kiehn remarked to general acquiescence, scraping the last of his K-ration breakfast from its package with a grimace. Hoobler, having worked his way out of Skinny's impromptu embrace, looked uncommonly pensive.

"Here's to him, fellas," he remarked solemnly, and Eleanor felt the mood around her shift within an instant; the banter faded and was replaced by silence, the men's smiles - previously giddy and elated - becoming wistful. Her chest suddenly feeling tight, she watched them raise their mess tins and canteens in a wholly sober toast, each of them momentarily caught up in their own memories and thoughts. It wasn't often they heard from wounded comrades like this; it was no wonder that it left them reeling a little, especially given that Tipper had been in their platoon.

"What happened to him, sarge?" Babe asked softly, almost reverently, looking between Bull Randleman and Johnny Martin in question. The two NCOs exchanged a glance, seemingly deciding between them who would attempt to explain the carnage that was Normandy. Eventually, Martin heaved a sigh and turned to Babe and the rest of the replacements.

"Got hit by a propelled grenade in Carentan," he said simply, expression decidedly steely and putting off any further questions. Bull grunted in agreement.

"Thought he was a goner for sure, what with his legs bein' all mangled like that."

Images flashed before Eleanor eyes - Tipper, frightened and in pain, desperately clinging to her hand as she stroked sweat-slicgk hair from his bloody forehead and tried to get him to settle down. She could still hear the way he had whimpered and screamed, recall how thoroughly shattered his limbs had been; hell, his legs had barely looked like legs anymore. _I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been there. _God, but she was tired of seeing her friends get hurt, of holding them together with little more than her bare hands and whatever trite words she could come up with. _This damn war..._

"So you thought he was dead this whole time?" Hashey wondered aloud, genuinely astonished, but his naivety was grating to most of the veterans.

"Jesus, kid, something wrong with your ears?" Dukeman snapped, scowling at the younger man. Eleanor, barely masking a wince, wasn't sure whether to feel sorry for Hashey or be sympathetic towards Dukeman. She knew Will had been one of the last to acknowledge that Meehan's plane had in fact gone down and that all aboard were dead; though he dealt with his grief well enough most of the time, there were moments like these where he would flare up suddenly, if not always wholly intentionally.

"Yeah, we thought he was dead."

Luz, ever the peacekeeper and company conscience, shot his friend a look. "It's hard to keep track of a fella once he's off the line, is all," he mollified, simultaneously cautioning Dukeman to pipe down and clearing the issue up for Hashey. Eleanor had to admire his tact.

"What's it like?" Julian wanted to know, no doubt encouraged by Luz's willingness to explain, "The hospitals?"

"Pretty grim, if I'm honest," Talbert said knowledgeably, eyes misting over in remembrance, "Wouldn't want to go back there."

Next to him, Perconte grinned roguishly. "What, not enough pretty nurses for ya, Tab?"

"Ah, fuck off, short stuff," Tab countered, throwing a handful of hay towards Perco, who dodged it easily but with an undignified sort of sound.

"Hey, I ain't that short!"

Hoobler, meanwhile, flat out ignored them both and nudged Eleanor in the shoulder instead. "Guess we've just been spoiled, huh, captain?"

"I guess so," she smiled, receiving the letter back from Luz and turning it over in her hands thoughtfully. Most of first platoon was present and accounted for, but one person - one important person, as far as this matter was concerned - wasn't around at that very minute. "Hey, you boys know where I can find Liebgott?"

"Probably outside, bickering with Webster," Garcia quipped, evidently pleased with himself when the rest of the men laughed.

"Probably," Martin snorted, raising his gaze to meet Eleanor's, "You wanting to tell him about Tipper?"

"Yeah. I thought he might like to know."

"Might do him some good," Randleman nodded, frowning down at a new cigar he was about to light, "Boy is wound tight as gawddamn spring."

"Don't I know it," Bill Kiehn groaned, "He almost bit my head off the other day because I asked him to give me a hand with the 30cal."

Eleanor didn't even try to keep herself from wincing this time around._ I should have kept a closer eye on him. _"I'll go talk to him," she breathed wearily, getting to her feet and brushing stray strands of hay off her trousers, "I'll be back later- till then, could you-"

"_My darling, please wait for me?_" Luz finished cheekily, paraphrasing a recent Mills Brothers song. Eleanor rolled her eyes and smiled.

"Cute. I was wondering if you could tell the others."

"We'll tell 'em, captain," Talbert reassured her even as Luz continued to sing.

"_No matter when it will be, someday, I know she'll be back again..."_

"George," Eleanor laughed, grabbing her helmet as more and more of the men joined in. This, along with the talent for appeasing he'd displayed earlier, was _exactly_ what Georgie Luz excelled at; the previously somber mood was lifted, and the men were smiling again. _What would we do without George Luz..._

"_We'll wait, till then!_" half the platoon finished with gusto, hooting and clapping as Eleanor raised her hands defensively and backed up towards the door.

"All right, all right," she called, "Thanks, Tab- see you later, boys."

Leaving the barn door open this time, she went to look for Liebgott, all the while strategizing how to best break the news to him. Where his temper had been difficult before, he could be downright tetchy these days and she didn't feel up to a full-blown confrontation with him; not now, when they were both stressed enough as was. Even an announcement as welcome as the fact that Tipper - one of his closest friends since Toccoa - was recovering would have to be handled with some delicacy.

She rounded a corner and almost bumped into an aggravated looking Webster, saluting him in acknowledgment when he snapped to but not managing to get a word in before he stalked past her. _Ah, hell. _Clearly the men had been right and the two of them had gotten into another of their already infamous arguments, leaving them both chagrined and frustrated. It fascinated her how they seemed to be inexplicably drawn together, despite the fact that they almost always ended up squabbling over something or the other. _Stranger things have happened._ Rubbing a hand across her eyes, she sighed and continued on, finding Liebgott leaning against the wall, cigarette stuck firmly between his lips.

"Joe."

"Oh, Christ, like one intellectual wasn't enough for the day," he complained, barely even looking up at her, "You better have a damn good reason to be keeping me from my chow, Elle."

To say he'd been out of line would have been an understatement of considerable proportions. Crossing her arms, she moved up in front of him. "As a matter of fact I do," she said, keeping her tone neutral, "Though you might want to see to that tone of yours first, corporal."

It didn't her surprise her in the least when he glowered at her. "You pulling rank on me now?" he asked, disbelieving, and she raised a pointed eyebrow at him in turn - yes, she definitely was. "Ah, fuck," he swore, tossing his cigarette aside and straightening out his lanky frame. "Yes ma'am. Sorry ma'am."

"Better," she appraised, nodding slowly and falling silent for a beat. _Well. Here goes nothing._ "I got a letter from Tipper the other day."

Something in him froze, hardened, withdrew even though he didn't move a muscle. "Bullshit."

_Okay, take how bad I thought it'd be and multiply it by ten, then. Damn it. _"I'm serious-"

"So am I!" he all but exploded, and now he _was_ moving, pacing back and forth like a caged animal, every inch of him taut with disquiet, "Tipper's fucking dead, Eleanor. Him and Katie both."

She reeled back as though he'd hit her. _He honestly thought he was dead all this time. _He continued to move erratically, one hand wound into his hair and pulling at it sporadically. _I suppose it makes sense. Everyone else certainly did. _"Joe, he's alive," she said quietly, arms subconsciouslytightening around herself, "I thought you knew."

"Yeah?" he demanded, coming to a halt at last, and she watched him grapple with the information, struggling to adjust what he thought he'd known for certain, "If he's alive, then why ain't I heard from him?"

There was a hint of accusation in his tone, an unspoken _why did he write to you and not to me_ that had her feeling even more guilty about the whole matter than she already did. "Because he _is_ hurt, and recovery is a long son of a bitch," she told him frankly, holding out the by now crumpled letter to him, "Here."

He took it from her and scanned its contents shortly, frowning. "That's a broad handwriting," he declared, blazing eyes snapping back up to meet hers, "What, you think I'm stupid or something?"

_God grant me patience. _"No, though I'm starting to think you're acting like it," she retorted, beginning to get exasperated with his mood, "Just read it, all right?"

Thankfully, he did just that, the rest of his body stilling gradually as the anger drained from him. "Does Annie know?" he asked at length, fingers tight around the paper. Eleanor shook her head.

"No. Not yet. I thought you might want to be the one to tell her."

"Yeah," he murmured, raising his head and suddenly looking very lost. The change in him was so swift it was almost frightening, and she suppressed the sudden urge to gather him into her arms and hold him. "I thought he was dead," he confessed roughly, once again tugging at his hair; she didn't think he even realized he was doing it. _I mourned him_, the slump of his shoulders said; _I tried to forget about him because it hurt too much._

"I know, but he isn't. Eddie _survived,_ Joe," she soothed, purposefully using Tipper's first name in the faint hope that it might somehow get the message through to him. _Annie, Katie, Eddie, Joey. _She remembered, distantly, the way Tipper had grinned as he recounted how Liebgott had threatened to castrate him if they ever called him that. Contemplating the man in front of her, he'd never seemed more like Joey to her than he did right there and then.

"He's going to be fine. That's a good thing, isn't it?"

"Won't bring Katie back, will it?" he said sullenly, flinching when he recalled Tipper didn't know about her death yet. "Who the hell's going to tell him?"

Eleanor took a deep breath. "I'll write to him," she promised, staring at the sun where it was rising over the horizon, "For now, let's just go find Anne, shall we?" Liebgott nodded and followed her towards the aid station without another word.

* * *

Finally, almost exactly two weeks after they had jumped into Holland, the 101st was assigned a new mission. They were to occupy a piece of farmland between two of the local rivers, holding the position until further notice, and it became abundantly clear abundantly quickly that there was little they'd be doing besides just that. The 506th was assigned to the northern boundaries of what came to be known as The Island, setting up in the villages and towns that were scattered behind the dike that ran along the Rhine. When they arrived the area beyond the embankment was already a muddy no man's land littered with craters and dead animals; the Germans on the other side of the river seemed to have the advantage of being in a better position to spot for ordnance and having more of the stuff to begin with. Every Allied soldier who would venture out into the open while it was still light ran a decent risk of having an eighty-eight lob a round at him, and so they stayed in their shelters, patrolling at night and acting as forward observers during the day. Gone were the days of the decisive, aggressive light infantry movements they had trained for; the defensive strategy that had started in Uden persevered. To add injury to insult the men were given the rations the British had left behind, provisions they were unfamiliar with and cared little for; Eleanor felt like she'd never heard the men complain so much before, which said something given their penchant for bitching about anything and everything they could think of.

That wasn't what concerned her, however, nor the continuously miserable weather or even the fact that they seemed to have stagnated into some nightmarish Great War scenario. What worried her most was the creeping suspicion that there was no grand scheme to all of this, no end game, that they were merely being kept in place until command could come to a decision on what to do next. Good men were dying almost on a daily basis, yet she did not know what for; were they waiting for new troops to be brought in and renew their efforts to liberate Holland, or were they clinging to whatever piece of land they could until the brass would eventually choose to call the retreat? She was even more uncertain of their situation than she had been before, and it frustrated her beyond belief.

Not that she let her exasperation show; not when she could help it, anyway. There was enough to do without her team or any of the men getting further demoralized than they already were and it was not like her complaints would do much good. That much at least had become clear to her.

They set up the regimental aid station in Opheusden, a few miles away from the outposts second battalion would be occupying. The building chosen for them was an old school, abandoned now that the conflict had intensified and many of the local children evacuated, and the first day or so in the small town was spent moving in and getting settled. It wasn't until the second afternoon that Eleanor allowed herself to get some rest, wandering into one of the as of yet deserted classrooms and taking a moment to look around. Like the affluent house they had stayed in before, the place still showed signs of its former occupants, toys strewn over the floor and the faint outlines of colorful writing remaining visible on the blackboard. It must have been a kindergarten in times past. Eleanor ran her fingers over the dusty surface, tracing the letters with a melancholy smile. _I wonder what Meg would have made of all this. _

A heavy thud in the room next door made her jump, hand flying towards her weapon on instinct. _What the hell? _It wasn't loud enough to be an explosion of any kind, and the sound had been wrong for any kind of weaponry; somebody must have dropped something. Brows furrowed, she trotted towards the other room, remembering it had been designated as a storage area and it was one of the last ones that hadn't been unpacked yet. To her shock, she found a familiar figure inside, bend down over a fallen crate of supplies.

"Gene?" she asked incredulously, lingering in the doorway with a frown. Roe had been with them for four days now and his leg was healing up nicely, but he was still meant to be resting. In fact, Eleanor clearly recalled dragging him away from a patient not too long ago and instructing him to do just that, and it was not like that had been the first time, either; it had only been the last episode in a long string of similar incidents. He'd always been stubborn, but this was reaching whole new heights of obstinacy.

Color crept across the medic's cheeks as he stopped dead in his tracks and flicked his eyes up at her fleetingly. "Ma'am?"

"I thought I told you to take it easy," she commented mildly, crossing her arms and observing him warily for a moment. His movements were stiff, a tad awkward, both of which were understandable given the circumstances. The wound on his leg might be mending well, but he really shouldn't be up and about like this - not yet.

"Yes ma'am, you did," he said, an undercurrent of guilt clear in his voice. She shook her head and stepped forward to pick up the last of the fallen goods, amazed when he carried on with his work and winced when he reached for another box not far off.

"So why aren't you?" she quizzed, tossing the items into the crate and heaving it onto the table before moving to help him with the next one. Together, they managed to hoist it atop the table with only minor effort and she hoped that might put an end to his incessant need to assist. The moment she'd opened the case, however, he was making a grab for its contents and wordlessly started to sort the different types of bandages and compresses into neat stacks on the countertop.

"It seemed like you could do with the help, ma'am," he offered by ways of explanation, refusing to meet her eyes and continuing to go through the supplies with admirable diligence. _Well. Admirable in any other situation, perhaps..._

"Sure we could, but you're a patient," Eleanor reminded him, spotting the clipboard with the inventory list lying nearby and flicking through the papers on it. It was worse than she'd originally thought; it seemed like had had single-handedly categorized and cleared away a quarter of the supplies already, despite the obvious issues with lugging heavy goods around and having a leg that probably hurt like hell.

"Uh-huh," he muttered distractedly, fishing for the last handful of dressings at the bottom of the box, either purposefully oblivious to her concern or honestly absorbed by his self-assigned work. It was hard to tell sometimes. The nurse across from him sighed.

"Eugene," she said softly, hoping the use of his Christian name might get his attention. Thankfully, it did, and he stopped his almost trance-like movements at long last and looked up at her. She smiled at him gently. "Don't make me order you to rest."

"No ma'am," he nodded, startling a bit when she took his am and began to lead him towards the exit. It was high time they both took a break.

"And for the love of God, how many more times will I have to tell you to call me by my name?" she teased affectionately, supporting him as they walked to the kitchen together.

He ducked his head and smiled. "Once more at least, cap'n, as always," he said, letting her set him down on one of the dining chairs but opening his mouth to protest when Eleanor pushed over another for him to rest his foot on. A single, vaguely ominous look from her managed to silence him within a split second.

"Let it never be said your mother didn't raise you right," she told him ruefully, making sure he was comfortable before sidling over to the stove. "Tea?"

"If you don't mind."

_Like I would._ "Of course not," she said, glad to find the fire inside the old fashioned stove would only need a little kindling, "You have to be the only person around here to actually appreciate the stuff, besides the Limeys," she added with a shake of her head, all too familiar with her friends' general dislike of the beverage she so adored. _I suppose he's been raised on sweet tea and might have a higher tolerance because of it. _Filling the kettle with water and lifting it onto the cooker, she tilted her head and regarded him for a moment, eyes narrowing. _But then a lot of the men are from the southern states..._

"This wouldn't happen to have anything to do with a certain girl from Aldbourne, would it?" she asked shrewdly, grinning when he blushed again. _Gotcha_! "Thought so."

Gene cleared his throat uneasily. "Myrtle's a friend, is all."

"Sure she is," Eleanor countered skeptically, deciding not to push the matter further when she noticed he seemed genuinely flustered. Poking at the fire until she could hear the water start to simmer and boil, she nodded at his injury and changed the topic. "You're still liming a little."

"'s Only a bit of an ache," he shrugged, and for once she wasn't quite sure if he was playing it down or not. "Stitches are beginning to itch, though."

"I bet," she chuckled, finding herself two mugs and rations of tea. As horrible as the rest of the British provisions they'd been given were, at least they had decent tea bags.

Roe, meanwhile, was pressing his lips together thoughtfully, staring down at his wounded leg. "Maybe I oughta-"

"Oh, no," Eleanor was quick to protest, "Don't even try and suggest taking them out yourself." Pouring the steaming water into the cups, she raised her eyebrows at him meaningfully. "And that _is_ an order."

"Yes ma'am."

_Good. Now let's see if he keeps his word. _"So long as we're clear," she said, passing him one of the mugs and sitting down across from him to sip at her own. Silence hung between them for a few moments, not uncomfortable if not entirely easy either, and Eleanor hesitated briefly before breaking it.

"I heard from Ed Tipper not too long ago."

Her friend's dark eyes widened slightly. "He's alive?"

"Alive and getting better," Eleanor confirmed, telling him much the same thing she had told the rest of the men a few days back. She watched him process the information, the premature lines in his otherwise young face deepening when he frowned. "You saved his life," she added quietly, seeking to reassure him.

His response was as instantaneous as it was ardent. "Nah, was the doctors-"

_Oh, Gene. _"Don't sell yourself short, cheri," she said, bending forward and reaching out to touch his arm, "It's often the first few minutes- the first aid- that ends up counting. Had you not stabilized and evacuated him, I'm not sure what would have happened." _Nor do I really want to consider it..._

"I thought he was gonna die," Roe admitted in a low voice, meeting her eyes and searching them for an answer almost anxiously. "You ever have someone die in your arms, cap'n?"

She swallowed and let go of his wrist, suddenly unable to hold his gaze any longer. "Yeah," she said, thinking back to a Parisian street many years ago and the friend that had bled out while she held him. There'd been many - too many - more since that night, but somehow, for some reason, all she could think of was De Boutray and the way he'd pleaded with her to save herself. "Yeah, I have."

"I hadn't- not yet, 'nyway," Roe continued, absentmindedly rubbing his long fingers along the warm ceramic edges of his mug. "Can you believe that?" he reflected, and it surprised her to find him suddenly this talkative, "All that- death- almost a week of fighting, and not a single fella'd actually died while I was looking after him." He shook his head vaguely, eyes going distant as he looked out the window and at the drizzle pattering against the glass.

"I thought Tipper would be the first, y'know? 'Course he wasn't, but I didn't know that then."

He abruptly stopped talking. Having set down his cup, he stared at his hands intently, as though he could see the remnants of blood on them despite the fact that they were perfectly clean. A muscle twitched in his jaw. Eleanor could all but see the gloom overtake him. It was strange, she mused, the way he seemed to become aloof and fold in on himself whenever things got too close for comfort, too personal. Simply shutting down appeared to be his way of coping, but she wasn't sure if it was a healthy one.

"You can't save them all, Eugene," she murmured, taking his hand this time in an attempt at comfort. _How do you console a man who shuns the very thought of relying on another person? _Nevertheless, his fingers curled around hers and held on.

"Don't mean I shouldn't try," he said morosely, the grasp on her hand tightening as though it was the only thing keeping him anchored to reality. _He's trying to reach out, _she realized with a jolt, _even he can't stand the loneliness sometimes._

"Of course not," she hushed him, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles soothingly, "Do you ever stop and think how many of the fellas are here because you patched them up? Alley, Toye... they might not be with us if it wasn't for you."

The noise that escaped him bordered on disdainful, though she had a feeling the contempt was directed at himself rather than at her. "Mending 'em just to send 'em back to the line."

She winced. "I didn't mean-"

"I know," he interrupted her, and that had to be a first time for ever-courteous Gene Roe, "It's just-"

"Hard," she finished, letting her breath out slowly. "Yeah."

"How d'you do it?" he asked, tea abandoned and rapidly cooling, "Being friends with them and knowing their life might be in your hands any day."

_Hell if I know. _"Remind myself I've got to work twice as hard to save them?" she cracked weakly, earning her half a smile but little besides. "I'm not sure," she said, "And you've spent the past two years with them, Eugene, they're your friends as much as mine if not more so. You can try all you want, but you can't go through this war alone."

A knock on the door had both their heads snapping up. "Captain," Grace called, peeking her head around the frame cautiously. Eleanor let her eyes fall shut for a second. _No rest for the wicked._

"Yeah?"

"Evac's bringing in Sergeant Toye."

"Speak of the devil," she muttered to Gene, giving his hand a final squeeze before letting it go and standing up, "You'd best get Betty."

Grace smiled knowingly. "Yes ma'am."

Gulping down the last of her tea and grimacing to find it had gone all but cold by now, Eleanor set her mug on the counter and turned to Roe. He was already fidgeting, eager to return to work and help out where he could. _Oh, all right then._ "Coming, Doc?"

"Thank you, captain," he said gratefully, swinging his leg from the chair it'd been resting on and grappling to get to his feet. Smiling caustically, she offered him her hand and hoisted him upright, not letting go until he'd balanced himself out again.

"Hey, trying to keep you still will only have the opposite effect, so..." _If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. _The medic smiled.

"Yes ma'am."

They went into the casualty clearance area together, sidestepping other medics and making for the entrance. Within minutes, there was a screech of tires outside and the scuttle of men being unloaded off the transport jeeps. Eleanor rocked back onto her heels slowly, body thrumming with nervous energy, praying silently that Joe wouldn't be too badly off. Never mind the fact that he was a her friend, Betty was likely to be affected if he was seriously hurt and she relied on - _needed_ - her second in command too much for her team not to suffer in turn. _Shouldn't have allowed yourself to get close to them, _a muffled voice echoed in her mind, _shouldn't have allowed them to get close to each other, either._

Yet when the doors swung open and she saw her friend's face screwed up in agony, she knew it was far too late now. _No going back. It is what it is. _Shoulders squaring and taking a deep breath, she stepped into the fray and set to work. Apparently Toye hadn't been the only one to have been wounded; there were two, maybe three (if you counted the seemingly unhurt but decidedly dawdling private just behind the door) additional casualties, and they all needed looking after in some way or the other. She assigned Gene and Grace to the other duo with a few quick words and signals of her hand, hoping to gage how the soldier outside was doing in the meantime but only catching a glimpse of his helmet as he took it off and the door swayed shut. _Not injured badly enough to require immediate attention, then, _she decided, knowing the medics would have ushered him in if he was.

She turned to Toye, undoubtably the most severely wounded of them all, and had to bite back a wave of worry at the sight of him. _How do I do it, indeed. _It looked as though half a building had collapsed down on him, a thin layer of dust clinging to his bloodied uniform and every inch of exposed skin, and his injuries could only have come from shrapnel and an explosion of some kind. _Artillery, maybe? _These kind of wounds appeared to have become common during this campaign; there was a whole lot less shoot-and-scoot and a whole lot more blowing the hell out of each other.

"Joseph Toye, didn't we agree not to see you back here for a while?" she asked him sternly, taking the edge off the words with a warm smile. It was true; Toye was one of the regulars around the aid station - had been since Normandy - and they'd made a half-serious deal that he'd try to steer clear of the place for as long as possible this time around. Obviously, that hadn't worked out too well, and now the stretcher bearers were lifting him onto one of the free tables once more.

"Sorry, babe," he grimaced, returning her smile tightly, "Seems I just can't stay away."

Brushing her hand past his jaw after she'd taken his pulse, Eleanor shook her head sadly. "First Compton and Chuck, then Bill and his damn motorcycle, now you," she listed, moving down to assess his injuries, "Who the hell's gonna lead second platoon with all of you lot gone, huh?"

"Don't worry, Malark'll take care of the fellas," he said, knuckles white as he clenched the sides of the table, "Probably do a better job of it, too."

"Don't say that, Joe," the nurse bade softly, keeping pressure on a ragged but thankfully shallow cut on his stomach with one hand and covering his with the other. He got like this sometimes; for all of his bravery and extraordinary strength, Toye had some crippling issues with his self-esteem, always convinced that others were smarter than him, _better_ than him. It was far from the truth, of course, and he generally hid it well - Eleanor hadn't even really realized it at first, not until she'd seen him properly drunk a few times and had spoken to the other men about it - but every once in a while the insecurities would shine through and the melancholy would overcome him.

"I trust Malarkey, but the men are worse off for not having you around," she continued, searching out his eyes to emphasize her point, "All right?"

"If you say so, Elle."

"I do," she stressed, warily eyeing the piece of debris that had lodged itself in his chest. She was about to call for another set of hands when hurried footsteps echoed through the building and drew closer to them.

"Joe!" Betty called, voice pitched with worry as she arrived at his side and knelt by his head, fingers tangling in his hair. Toye's relief was palpable.

"Hey, sweetheart," he breathed, groaning when the other medic working on him prodded at one of his wounds, "'m Sorry-"

"Don't you even dare apologize to me, mister," Betty said adamantly, brushing soot off his temple even as she looked up at Eleanor across from her. "Debridement?"

"Yeah, he needs to be prepped for surgery," the older woman nodded, trying to find a doctor within sight but coming up short, "You got this, Bets?"

"Of course."

"I'll go find a surgeon," she said, staying put until Betty had taken over the pressure on the stomach wound before setting off to track down one of the doctors- preferably one who wasn't already elbow deep in blood and guts. It took her surprisingly little time to do so, and it took all of her self-constraint not to tell the man off for dawdling around while people needed his help. Instead she plastered on as pleasant a smile as she could manage and led him over to Toye.

"Right over there, sir," she pointed out, about to follow him over when she noticed another familiar face a little ways away from her. _Huh. Certainly didn't expect to see him here. _How and when Babe Heffron had arrived, she wasn't sure, but there he was, perched on the edge of one of the tables nearer to the door. He didn't appear to be hurt - not upon first impression, at any rate - but there was something about his posture that was decidedly off. Waiting until the surgeon had found Toye and gone to work, she wiped the blood off her hands with a towel and walked over to where Babe was seated.

"Hey, kiddo," she called to him, smiling when he looked up and his eyes shifted in recognition.

"Hey, Cap," he said in return, but the wan smile he offered did not match her own and she was more than ever certain that not all was well with him. It wasn't like him not to snap at the way she'd chosen to address him; usually, he would have been insulted by it, would have deemed it belittling to be spoken to as if he were a child. Not today - for some reason, he hadn't complained about it.

"How are you doing?" she asked him cautiously, scrutinizing without actually touching him. There was blood on his trousers, but she was fairly sure it wasn't his, as well as an ugly bruise blossoming on his cheekbone and, like Joe, he was covered head to toe in a fine sheen of grime.

"Can't complain," he shrugged, the words painfully hollow. She noticed his helmet next to him and recognized the scratch that ran along the front of it; she'd seen it before, and recently at that.

"Hm," she murmured, brushing bits of splintered wood from his shoulders, "You come in with Toye?"

He stiffened underneath her touch. "Yeah," he said tersely, "We were on patrol when the shelling started- he got me out of the building in time, but he got hit." His nose wrinkled. "I didn't."

_God, but there's a lot of guilt going around tonight. _Pressing her hand down on his shoulder, she frowned to find something warm and damp sticking to her palm. She turned her wrist upwards and, frowning, realized it was blood; blood that, once she had pulled aside his uniform, turned out to be coming from a nick along his collarbone that had previously remained hidden - and unannounced.

"You're bleeding," she asserted, more than a little annoyed, using her free hand to dig through her bag for her forceps. While the wound wasn't deep enough to need stitches, it looked as though there was a foreign object - possibly another sliver of wood - embedded in it and she didn't want to risk digging around it with her fingers.

"'s Just a scratch," Heffron tried to dismiss it, but by the way he flinched when she let the fabric fall back over the gash told her it bothered him whether he liked to admit it or not. She huffed a suspicious laugh.

"You wanna take off your jacket, let me check it out?" she suggested - might as well try to ask nicely first, after all - and she smiled to see some of the old spark return to his eyes, the corners wrinkling mischievously when he answered her.

"Geez, Ellie, can't I buy you dinner first?"

"Nice try," she grinned, stuffing the forceps in her breast pocket for the time being as he began to strip obediently. When all that was left was his ruined undershirt and he winced as he tried to pull it over his head, she intervened gently. "C'mere," she said, carefully prying the shirt from where it stuck to his skin and cutting it away without hesitation.

"I'll get you a new one," she promised, amused, as his eyes widened and his mouth fell open in astonishment. There were not one but two splinters wedged in the wound and she bent close to be able to pry them out, maneuvering the forceps with one hand while keeping them both steady with the other. After the brief moment of cheer, she could all but feelhim deflate again, the solemn frown returning to his face and any trace of a smile disappearing.

"Campbell's dead," he said quietly, glancing at her while she fished out the last bit of debris. She met his eyes only hesitantly; she'd never been particularly close to Campbell, but every casualty - every loss - was painful regardless of her personal relationship with the man. _Perhaps that's what I should have told Eugene, _she pondered wearily, _that it doesn't matter whether you keep your distance or not - war is hell regardless. _

"I'm sorry to hear that," she murmured, dabbing disinfectant onto the cut and sprinkling it with sulfa powder prior to wrapping it up. Heffron shook his head dejectedly.

"I shoulda been where he was, but Joe insisted-"

"Hey," Eleanor cut him off, well aware where that sentence and train of thought were going and not at all in favor of it, "These things things happen. It's not your fault it did."

Babe sighed. "I know," he said, flexing his arm a little once Eleanor had finished bandaging it, "It's just- things are different than I thought they'd be, ya know?"

_What did he expect, other than not having any bloody clue? _

"Different how?"

"I don't know, all right?" he snapped, temper flaring up as it typically did, "Just different." Another sigh. "My head hurts," he groused, damn near pouting as he stared down at his boots moodily.

Frowning, Eleanor wondered what else he was hiding from her - first his wound, now this; whatever was next? - and grabbed a hold of his chin to tilt his face, free hand wandering past the bruise on his cheek and through his red hair until her fingers brushed across a lump that shouldn't have been there. She knew she'd found the reason for his headache when he flinched away from her touch, wincing.

"Ow!" he cried, glaring up at her in annoyance. She shook her head, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. _Silly boy._

"With a bump like that, I'm not surprised," she remarked, hand coming down to rest against his neck. It seemed unlikely he was concussed, all things considered, but his eyes were still distant, strangely contemplative and just a little bit sorrowful. He'd taken this hard, that much was clear, and she couldn't help but worry for him. "You all right?"

"You asked that already," he huffed, and her lips quirked up at the impatient undercurrent running through his voice. The brusque response sounded a lot more like him already; far more than the war-weary despondency that had been there before.

"Actually, I asked how you were doing," she retorted drily, nudging him impishly before grabbing the remainder of her supplies and returning them to her bag. To her relief, he snorted at that, shaking his head as he watched her clean up.

"I thought I was supposed ta be the smartass." Letting his breath out slowly, he smiled faintly as she stopped and turned back to look at him. "'m Fine."

She raised a dubious eyebrow. "You sure?"

"What are you, my ma?" he asked, rolling his eyes and immediately regretting it - head wounds had a way of hurting when one did that - though there was no real heat to the question. _A sister, more like,_ she thought; he inspired the same kind of protectiveness and affection in her that she felt towards Philip, though perhaps on an as of yet smaller scale. Like many of the men, he was a surrogate sibling of sorts, a younger brother that she felt obliged to look after, though she would probably never admit to as much in front of him. Grinning fondly, she closed her bag and patted his knee.

"There's the temper I know and love," she said, checking her watch and glancing at the back room swiftly, a plan already forming in her mind when she remembered there was a certain Cajun medic she couldn't get to sit still just in the other room. "I'll get you some aspirin."

Spinning on her heels, she halted when she heard his subdued voice call out to her. "Hey, Ellie?" Turning back around, she found him smiling slightly at her. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," she assured him, laughing when she walked off and he hollered after her to bring the shirts she'd promised him. It didn't take her long to find Gene and, after quickly debriefing him about the patient he'd helped see to, she dragged him along into the main foyer and grabbed the required supplies on the way back.

"Hey, Doc!" Heffron exclaimed cheerfully, plainly pleased to see the company medic, "How's the leg?"

"Better," Roe said, smiling one of his rare smiles and immediately making a beeline to examine his colleague himself, "Let's have a look at that head of yours, huh?"

Babe shot Eleanor an exasperated look, though there was no denying the warmth in it either. "I thought you said you were getting me some aspirin."

"I did!" she said brightly, tossing the shirts to him and waiting until he'd put them on before handing him the two pills and a glass of water. "I also got you something better. Gene here's gonna keep an eye on you, make sure you haven't got a concussion and that wound of yours heals up nicely." She fought a smile, pleased that her plan seemed to be working out so well already. "In turn I want _you_ to make sure our good medic here doesn't overreach himself and gets his rest."

"You got it all worked out, haven't you?" Babe smirked, chucking back the medicine and swatting Gene's hand away as he prodded at the bandages.

"Yup," Eleanor agreed, folding her arms contentedly, "This is why they pay me the big bucks."

"They do?"

"No, but you know what I mean," she quipped, clapping Roe on the back and shepherding them both towards the door. "Right, you two, there should be a jeep waiting for you outside. Eugene, I want you back here in a week to get those stitches out."

The medic nodded. "Yes ma'am."

"No touching them before then, understood?" she prompted him, earning her another smile.

"No ma'am."

And so she was left behind as they headed out together, fragments of their conversations carrying back to her."Look after each other," she whispered, though they were too far gone to hear her, and gnawed at her lip fretfully. _Mending 'em just to send 'em back to the line. He was right all along, wasn't he? _Then, as the door swung back and forth within its frame, she could just hear Babe's annoyed interjection over the sound of the running engines.

"I swear, Gene, call me Edward one more time..."

Eleanor smiled to herself and began to hum. They'd be all right.

_And let our ordered lives confess the beauty of thy peace - the beauty of thy peace._


	31. Rumors Are Flying

**Disclaimer: this story is based chiefly on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.**

* * *

Grey.

Where Holland had been a country of vivid colors before - the green of the fields, the purple of the heath, the rich reddish brown of the bricks and the orange of the many flags - it seemed to have been reduced to shades of grey, to the muddy sludge of washed out bomb craters and the pallid nuances of despair-slack faces. It was hard to pinpoint when exactly this change had taken place; it had been a gradual thing, something that had crept up on them from out of the shadows until their triumphant arrival seemed but a distant memory and all that remained of a once-hopeful campaign was the weary charge of their post. The stretch of farmland the 101st had been assigned remained in Allied hands - at least for the time being - but as the days dragged slowly on with little besides the occasional shelling to disturb them, its occupants began to wonder. Surely something had to be coming, either from their side or from the enemy across the river. Even during the most stagnant moments in Normandy there had been the confidence that it wouldn't last forever, that they were likely to be on the move again soon, but left by themselves and seemingly to their own devices, the men were getting restless - and that never boded well.

Watching the sun rise hesitantly into an overcast sky, Eleanor Fairfax was mostly concerned with what all this waiting would cost them. Never mind the loss of momentum and material, the shellings - though sporadic - were claiming men's sanity as well as their lives (and they claimed plenty of those). Gunfire they could deal with; it gave them something to retaliate against, to fire back at. On the contrary, getting bombed mostly entailed hunkering down and praying for survival: an unpredictable, terrifying thing that could go on for hours without anyone on the ground being able to do much about it. You could die at any given moment but you couldn't fight back, and it was precisely that uncertainty - that madness - which had a way of getting to one's mind. There'd been several men - all of them replacements, some of them even junior officers - who had come to her aid station with what had clearly been self-inflicted wounds; there was apparently no limit to what some would do to get away from the Island. If that wasn't cause for alarm, she wasn't sure what was.

It wasn't that she didn't understand, it was more that she didn't know how many more hurriedly trained repple-depple boys there'd be left to fill up the regiment's already depleted ranks at this rate. If the ones who had joined them after Eindhoven weren't up to standard, then who on earth would be? The first set of replacements who had joined them back in Aldbourne had largely been solid characters - Babe Heffron, Tony Garcia, they were all good men and good soldiers - and they'd had the time to settle into their new companies at that. The new guys, thrown in without the benefit of training with their units or even getting to know their fellow GIs, tended to pale in comparison; the majority of them were poor imitations of soldiers, let alone paratroopers. Given more time and more thorough teaching they might have been, but not like this. Never like this. There was a reason she didn't waste time on writing up the ones who tried to leave, or didn't bother to make sure procedures were in place for them to return to their companies once they'd healed. It was better for them to ease out like this, to be assigned to other outfits and not risk the lives of the men who did persevere. These kids had no business being among men who hung on with every stubborn bit of endurance they had, who never let up and never backed down simply because they were unwilling to leave their buddies behind and wouldn't dream of abandoning their duty to each other.

The whole thing made her feel old, because in many ways she did understand their side of the story, too. There wasn't a single person around who didn't want to get the hell out of this place and even the veterans were on edge; there'd been so much waiting since the start of Market Garden - the hold up at the bridge, the delay in getting the tanks to them, the suspension when the whole operation had ground to a halt - that all they really wanted to do was move, whether it was against the enemy or down back their own lines. Some simply chose the latter option, others bided their time and waited, but even they would reach a breaking point sooner or later.

Eleanor feared she might be coming up on hers.

Sometimes, in the darkest hours before dawn, she wondered what would become of her. Would she crack and give in to the strain - maybe even commit an act as desperate as hurting herself just to get away - or would she keep going until nothing was left and others would have to remove her, be it dead or alive? She hadn't been doing well of late; this much she knew. Her strenuous hold on her equilibrium had slipped further and further away from her since before their disastrous campaign had come to an end, and she was painfully aware of what it would do to her. It had started out small: the occasional tremor in her hand, the intermittent bolt of mostly-concealed panic; those things she had been able well enough. Now, frustrated by the inaction and made uneasy by the lack of sound information - she knew they were missing something, that some vital part of intelligence had either gone unnoticed or had not been acquired at all - matters had only gotten worse. In unguarded moments she'd spot the face of an old enemy over someone's shoulder only to realize they weren't really there; she'd flinch at the sound of a random soldier's voice because they seemed an awful lot like someone she'd known in France. The nightmares, too, had become frequent and increasingly disruptive, up to the point where she slept little and ate even less despite being one of the few members of the division who could actually stomach the hated British rations.

It was funny, really, how she felt at once so numb and yet so unsteady, anxious about the outcome but unable to do much about it. Kind of like going through an artillery barrage, really. None of it was new; she'd been through it before. She just wasn't sure where it would lead her, having barely made it back to sanity last time as it was, and more than anything she worried if her descend into combat fatigue would not end up affecting the lives of others more than she - than they - could afford it to. What information she'd be able to gather would heavily influence the regiment's reaction to the inevitable German attack that was looming over them; what if it wasn't correct, or what if it wasn't enough?

It never even occurred to her that blaming the whole division's intelligence issues on her own state of mind was silly at best and arrogant at worst; blaming herself was easier than blaming others, somehow. She heaved a sigh and tilted her face towards the clouds, trying to concentrate on the sensation of the rain misting down onto her face. Whatever she did or whatever the future would bring, the world remained obstinately grey. That at least she could be reasonably confident of.

A cold gust of northern wind swept past her and made her shiver, the skin around her eyes tightening as she squeezed them shut. Somewhere in the distance a robin warbled, the sound of it sending a shiver down her spine; without warning, all she could see were the frost-covered branches of a forest just outside of Vichy. She inhaled sharply and her shoulders tensed; she remembered this. _It's an ambush. We were trying to sabotage the railroad and- she shook her head, no, this was years ago- wasn't it?_

"Captain," someone called, their familiar voice warping into one she hadn't heard in ages. Along with it came the pungent smell of rotting leaves and gunpowder, the feel of rough bark where it pressed against her cheek, the sound of shouted German orders and Vichyssois cries for help; for all intents and purposes, she was back in France.

"_Captaine_."

Her heart beat wildly against her ribcage as reality escaped her and the delusion took over._ Two dozen maquis on my left, maybe a third of that to my right- at least double that in enemy troops coming down the hill. Where the hell is Fremont? Her hand moved towards her gun on instinct, her breathing heavy despite her attempts to control it. Goddammit._

The same voice, closer now yet endlessly far away. "Eleanor?"

They were looking to her for direction, for orders, and for lingeringly crucial moments she hesitated. Their chances of escape were slim, but then their chances in a fight were even smaller; it was a classic case of flight or fight but she liked neither alternative. An explosion resounded and lit up the sky.

"_Capitaine Lazure!_"

Somebody reached for her and she made her decision. Fight. Grabbing the hand that had hovered over her shoulder, she twisted it smoothly behind their back and, within the same movement, pressed the nuzzle of her gun against their neck. The person struggled- she tightened her hold and undid the safety- but then, just as abruptly as she'd found herself in Vichy, she was back in Opheusden and blinking rapidly at the damaged walls of what had once been a school building.

"It's me," a panicked voice came from beneath her line of sight, and she was horrified to realize whose it was, "It's Maria-"

_Oh God._ Her fingers unclenched from around Maria's arm as they both stumbled back, eyes wide and faces devoid of any color. She'd drawn a gun on her subordinate- on her friend. _Jesus. How did this happen?_

"I know, I-" she choked, lips numb and feeling nauseous, "Jesus." She was barely able to meet Maria's bewildered gaze, mortified and shaken and feeling like she might collapse at any moment. The pistol clattered from her grasp. What have I done? "Don't do that again, don't-" she forced out a breath, "Don't sneak up on me like that."

The younger woman gaped at her in shock. "I wasn't-"

"Just don't, all right?" Eleanor snapped, trying desperately to gather her thoughts and work towards damage control. This was bad; beyond bad, in fact, and for so many reasons. _How did I let it get this far?_ The thought of what could have happened - what she might have done - had she not snapped out of whatever hallucination had affected her was almost too much to bear. Where she had been suspicious of her own stability for, she downright mistrusted herself now, and if Maria's petrified expression was anything to go by she wasn't the only one.

"Captain, are you-" Maria attempted, concern evident in her tone. I almost killed her, and she's worried about me?

"Fine," Eleanor replied curtly, not sure she'd be able to deal with her friend's unforeseen compassion on top of everything else. "What did you want?"

Maria shook her head and rubbed the back of her neck distractedly. "Lieutenant Jones is looking for you."

Eleanor rolled her eyes wearily. Figures. "Of course he is," she grumbled, bending down to pick up her gun and re-holster it; her annoyance at Jones gave her something to focus on, if nothing else. "Did he say why?"

"Something about stitches, I think," Maria shrugged, still staring at her CO with a troubled frown. Eleanor, meanwhile, was at a loss as to what to do; address what had happened straight away, or continue on as though nothing had happened and deal with it later? She bit her lip anxiously. _Business as usual. Keep calm and carry on. There's a German counterattack looming, we've got enough on our hands as is._

"Come on," she sighed, running a hand through her hair, "We've got work to do."

Turning on her heel, she headed towards the door and tried to calm herself down before going back inside. Breathe in, breathe out. She almost had her hand on the knob when she noticed that Maria wasn't following her.

"Captain," the nurse called warily, halting Eleanor in her steps.

"What now?" the older woman said, twisting around to see what the hold up was only to find Maria looking up at the sky intently. Brows furrowing, Eleanor followed her line of sight but initially saw nothing out the ordinary; then, tilting her head, she heard the distinctive buzz of engines approaching. "Are those-" she muttered, swiveling until she'd found the source.

Planes. Her heart dropped into her stomach all over again.

"Shit," she ground out, grabbing Maria by the sleeve and dragging her along, "Get inside, go!" The first few planes seemed to be coming in too quickly, almost certainly heading for one of the towns beyond Opheusden, but Eleanor did not for a second doubt there'd be more. _Not again_, she prayed desperately, _please, God, not again. Spare my girls_. She pushed Maria inside before staggering in herself, regarding the ordinary organized chaos of the aid station: men milling about and sharing smokes, medics checking on patients or stocking up on supplies. _Christ, they don't know._

"Sound the alarm," she told Maria, barely waiting until she'd received her nod of confirmation before she set out to take charge. "Anne," she hailed the other nurse as she noticed her nearby, "Nancy!"

Behind them, the old school bell began to toll persistently. A disquieted murmur rose up from around the room. "What's happening?" somebody asked, but Eleanor chose to ignore them and turned to her subordinates instead.

"Your orders, ma'am?" Nancy asked simply, quickly catching on to the severity of the situation - whatever it was - and wanting to know what she could do. Eleanor smiled tightly to show her appreciation, adrenalin beginning to kick in and the previous debacle with Maria all but forgotten.

"Get the LWAs down to the shelter, many as you can," she instructed the two women, satisfied to see them get to it without hesitation. Awful as it was, the walking wounded would have a greater chance of getting to the shelter in time and were therefore made a priority. That did not mean she wouldn't at least try to get the other men to the relative safety of the basement, however, and after directing a medic to help with the evacuation she turned towards one of the wards with the full intention of doing just that.

Of course, that didn't mean she would necessarily get there straight away.

"Captain, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

_Well, what does it look like I'm doing?_ She glanced at Lieutenant Jones when he fell in step besides her, arching an eyebrow but never once slowing her pace. "There's bombers overhead, headed straight for us," she informed him stonily, catching Evelyn by the arm when she threatened to rush past her, "Ev, take the other ward-"

"What?" Jones blurted incredulously, "That's absurd- we'd hear them by now if-"

Nancy, propping up a private with his arm in a sling, side-eyed the lieutenant skeptically; even in the midst of the mayhem, Eleanor had to fight down a smile at that. Very few people actually liked Lieutenant Jones - he wasn't a bad sort, per say, and he was as good a medic as any, but he had all the ostentation of a junior doctor and displayed it towards those without an actual medical degree in particular. Eleanor was about to ask him if he had a problem with his hearing when the first of the missiles hit in the far distance - likely another one of the nearby towns - rattling the building and setting off air raid alarms across the Island.

"_Now_ do you believe me?" Eleanor said, renewing her efforts to get people to safety; it wouldn't be long before they were the ones to get hit. "You lot, help us," she ordered a handful of soldiers, shepherding them towards the ward she'd intended to get to in the first place, "Come on." The area she'd been trying to reach was one of the classrooms at the front of the building, a rectangular space with tall windows that on any other day would have made it a light and pleasant room. Right then and there, however, Eleanor was concerned that they'd be blasted out and straight at the men who'd been waiting for evacuation. It was already too late to get to the shelter - if they suffered a direct hit they'd be done for, but if they weren't she'd rather they didn't suffer further injury because of the glass.

"Get them down and away from the windows, hurry!" she yelled over the noise, pointing the medics to the various field beds while running towards one herself. From it, a familiar face looked up at her, eyes wide. "Hey, Alley."

She hoisted his tall frame up with as much care as she could, mindful of the many wounds he'd suffered after a hit from a potato masher. Actually, given how much metal we fished out of him, it might have been two rather than one, she thought absentmindedly, head snapping up when she heard planes roar outside. _They're getting close._

"Captain- what's goin' on-" the sergeant asked her dazedly, confused by all of the tumult and the healthy dose of morphine in his system.

"Put your arm around my shoulders," Eleanor told him, ducking down to support him and endlessly grateful when she spotted Grace Waddell rushing over to help, "Grace, give me a hand- all right, Jimmy, up we go-" Between the two of them they managed to get him off the stretcher and more or less upright, suspended precariously as they teetered towards relative safety.

"Incoming!" someone shouted, and for a fleeting, bizarre moment Eleanor was tempted to shout _no shit_ back at them, _because really, you think we don't know that?_

"Take cover!" she hollered instead, lowering Alley against the far wall and all but throwing herself down next to him. The building shook, heavier than before and increasingly so, as though someone had set off a line of firecrackers. In reality, they were bombs being dropped ever closer to them, closer and louder until Eleanor knew they'd be next. Blood roared in her ears. _Spare them_, she implored silently, _save us..._

The explosion that followed almost deafened them all; at a best guess, the building or possibly the street across from the aid station had been hit. Thank God for the red cross on the roof. Sure enough, shards of glass came sailing from the windows along with a cloud of dust and debris. Eleanor tightened her hold on Alley, curling even closer to him and shielding him as best she could; the reverberations of the blast rung through her head until all she could hear was her own heavy breathing. She waited - there could be more, there was always more when you least expected it - but to her surprise there were no further blasts, no additional shock waves. The dust settled, and the world was once again grey.

Glancing up at Grace where she was nestled against Alley's other side, she met her co-worker's eyes uneasily, asking without words if she was all right. Grace nodded, equally mute; it was eerily quiet for a moment until sound - and the rest of the world - reasserted itself and returned in full force. Eleanor was hyperaware of her surroundings now, of the overstated colors and the deafening sounds; the numbness was gone and a sense of purpose returned. She winced at the sudden cacophony of sensation.

"Everyone okay?" she called out hoarsely, straightening out a little and glad to hear tentative shouts of yes mingled in with the rising cries of pain. Alley still clung to her, groaning softly into her lap; some of his wounds had reopened, blood soaking through the bandages and staining them crimson. _Damn_. "You're all right, Moe," she soothed, brushing a hand past his forehead to get rid of the soot that had settled there, "It's all right. Come on-" Grace stepped in again and they got him up and more or less mobile, guiding him towards the entrance of the building along. "Everybody into the hall!"

They stumbled into the foyer, covered in dust and some of them bleeding profusely; the other men did not seem much better off. _Not a direct hit, though, so I doubt there's any new casualties._ Across the room, a soldier she didn't know clutched at his side and shrieked for help. _Yet_. She felt herself tremble. Keep focused - you know this isn't over.

"Why the hell were we assigned this building again?" Grace demanded, dipping down her head to look at Eleanor. It was a reasonable question; while aid stations like theirs always had a chance of coming under fire, they were excessively close to the line this time around. Eleanor grimaced, helping the other nurse move their charge down onto the floor for the time being.

"It was the most suitable structure around," she said wryly, standing up and scanning the room to get an idea of how they were doing. None killed even now, so far as she could tell - again, thank God for the red cross - but several with aggravated wounds and all of them distressed.

"Since when does structural suitability take precedence over not getting shot at?" Grace railed, scowling as she ripped at soiled dressings. It wasn't like her to get this angry, but Eleanor would take pissed off over terrified any day. She was doing her job, and for now that was all that mattered.

"Oh, don't worry," the captain said, rapidly assessing another trooper's head wound before passing him on to one of the medics, "Colonel Sink and I are going to have an _abrupt_ conversation when this is over." It was about time she talked to regimental CO in any case- not just about the location of the field hospital, but about the intelligence situation as well. _And probably my own... situation... as well._ She swallowed down an unlooked for wave of nausea, sharper than it had been before, exaggerated as everything seemed to be at that moment. _Speaking of which, where are the others?_

As if on cue, her second-in-command emerged from one of the adjacent rooms. "Bets!" Eleanor called, waiting until the lieutenant had found her before continuing, "You okay?"

"Fine," Betty said, and it was only then that Eleanor noted she was conspicuously dust-free, "We got to the shelter in time."

Eleanor nodded, taking it in. _Good. That'll save us some time._ "Sitrep?"

Betty took a deep breath. "Most of the walking wounded are down in the basement," she began, digging through her medic's bag, "We're moving the front rooms in with the criticals- it's one of the few windowless rooms in the building." She glimpsed out of the window curiously. "Do we know what got hit?"

"Looks like it was just the street for now, maybe a residential building. I'm not sure," Eleanor said, seizing a chair that had been toppled and beckoning an orderly with a patient over towards it, "Get him over here."

"Are you expecting more planes?" Betty asked, perceiving there was something Eleanor wasn't letting on. The bombardment had been brief - uncommonly so, almost - and there were a wealth of questions to be answered; Eleanor, for her part, more than ever felt like they were missing something, as though there was some part of the puzzle not yet in place.

Grace, a little ways away from them, was still ranting while she looked after Moe Alley. "I mean, we're on the very edge of the area- never mind the northern front, we're on the western border as well-"

Distracted as she was Eleanor overheard that fragment of her subordinate's tirade, and that was all it took. Things clicked into place and it was as though a light had been turned on; strangely, and unexpectedly, things were starting to make sense.

"Shit," she muttered again, realization hitting her like a sledgehammer. If her suspicions were right, this was only the beginning of what would be a very long day.

Betty frowned up at her. "Captain?"

"Stay here," she requested, reaching for the nearest officer and grabbing his binoculars off him without a word of warning. There was something she had to check and she set to the task with singular focus, jogging outside despite several people calling after her and questioning her sanity. The street, as she had expected, was abandoned; a few houses nearby had been damaged and were still burning, but their residents had long since gone and had not been there when the bomb had hit. Though the alarms had stopped blaring, anti-aircraft guns were still shrieking nearby, and when she strained her ears she could just hear artillery opening up further off. _This wasn't just an air raid. Grace was right- we're fenced in on two sides, and now..._

Planes zoomed by overhead before she had a chance to use the binoculars, but they were flying so low that she could easily identify them as German bombers - minus the bombs - followed swiftly by fighter jets. The latter became all the more obvious when one opened fire at her.

She dashed towards the doors of the aid station, bullets zipping at her heels as she hurled herself inside just - and only just - in time. Nancy and Betty appeared out of nowhere, dragging her along into the antechamber of foyer until they collapsed into a heap of tangled limbs and fallen helmets.

"Eleanor-"

"I'm okay," she assured them, winded and tense but ultimately unhurt, "I-"

"What was so important that you had to go out there?" Betty demanded, a hint of narrowly restrained scolding in her voice.

"The planes," Eleanor gasped, still trying to catch her breath, "Couple of bombers, both without ordnance- coming from Dodewaard."

Nancy, leaning her hands on her knees, nodded slowly in understanding. "We're not the only ones who got hit."

"I'm thinking we weren't the primary target either, but there's more," Eleanor continued, realizing she'd lost the set of binocular somewhere along the way. "The fighter jets- they were flying low."

"They were trying to spot our position?" Nancy asked, now more than a little bemused. If the planes really had been on their way back to Germany - or at least a German base - there was no logical reason for them to remain low and in range of enemy weapons.

"Why would they do that?" Betty added, dusting herself off as Eleanor bit her lip in disquiet.

"I don't think this was just an air raid," she said grimly, heading back into the main hallway and already planning ahead. They needed to move, and move quickly at that; she wasn't sure others - especially command - had caught onto this yet. _Maybe I don't get everything wrong after all, and maybe I can still warn them..._

"You think this is air _cover_?" Betty exclaimed in hushed tones as she hurried after Eleanor, as though she wasn't quite sure whether to be alarmed or disbelieving - but not wanting to spook anyone passing by either way.

"Maybe," Eleanor said, locating someone with chevrons denoting a technical rank, "Sergeant, get on the radio, try and get a hold of second battalion."

To her relief, he did as he was told and didn't ask questions. _Bless him._ One by one she was ticking off corners, trying to discern what - if anything - was coming at them and where they were coming from. An outline of the area was beginning to form in her mind. _We've got confirmed German movement to the north, the south, possibly the west, the east once we get a hold of second battalion-_ she frowned. _Second battalion. Hold on..._

"What's going on, ma'am?" Judy asked, halting near the little group that had formed around her CO and glancing at them hesitantly.

"I'm not entirely sure yet," Eleanor mused, stepping past Judy, "Get me a map."

"Yes ma'am."

Jogging back to where most of the injured men were being seen to, she tossed a spare tourniquet at Sara and made for Alley's slumped form, crouching down next to Grace - who was still tending to his wounds - and leaning in to grab the sergeant's shoulder. "Moe," she said quietly, urgently, "Jimmy, look at me." Her hand moved up to his cheek when he didn't respond. "Come on, focus."

He blinked heavily then, head lolling sideways as his eyes gradually focused on her. "Wha- Ellie-"

"I need you to tell me where you were ambushed," she said, too pressed for time to beat around the bush, "Do you remember?"

"Yeah, the-" he stammered, dark brows furrowing in concentration, "The crossroads, where the road crosses the dike-"

_I knew it._ "Okay," she nodded, squeezing his shoulder gently and flashing him a smile, "Okay." She remained hunkered down for a moment, trying to straighten out her whirling thoughts - it all made so much sense now. It was almost hard to believe she hadn't realized it before, that she hadn't seen it coming - _why didn't I? Why didn't any of us?_

"Captain!" Judy called, returning to the hall while wielding a large, rolled up bit of paper in her grasp, "Here."

Eleanor took the map from her gratefully, jumping up towards one of the tables that had been put across the hall. Spreading the chart across it, she tried to ignore the fact that it was sticking to old bloodstains and God only knew what else; the surface was free for the moment, and she needed the space. "All right, we're here," she began, plucking a marker from her breast pocket and circling their location. Raising her eyes to see if anyone was paying attention, she was surprised to see Maria tentatively shuffle over towards Betty.

"Betty?" Eleanor could just hear her say, though she kept her voice low, "Could I talk-"

The rest of it was muddled by a couple of medics rushing by, and while Eleanor did not like the look of the situation at all, she carried on as though nothing had happened. "Dodewaard's to the south," she continued, highlighting the town before rapping a knuckle against it for emphasis. "Both got hit, them more than us, and it sounds like we've got movement here-" she swept her fingers along the left edge of Opheusden, "On the ground to our west."

"Captain!" the radio tech who she'd ordered to call the eastern-most battalion piped up, "Second's got hostile movement coming from their north."

Eleanor winced. She'd expected as much, but the knowledge that the men she was closest to were likely in the midst of combat never got any easier. "Damn it," she breathed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. _All right. Adapt and move on._ "Get headquarters for me," she told him, tapping the marker against the table thoughtfully. "Right, so add that in here-" she said, circling the battalion headquarters at Randwijk, "And finally, Easy's patrol came across an at least substantial German force here, near the river."

Besides her, Judy crossed her arms and tilted her head, regarding the map before humming in consent. "Makes sense. They would have used the ferry to cross."

"That's not what worries me," Eleanor said, letting her finger trail down south from Randwijk towards the larger town of Zetten. Nancy soon grasped what Eleanor was getting at.

"Regimental CP is only a few miles down the road," she noted, head snapping up abruptly when the bigger picture became apparent. "You think they're making a move on the whole island?"

Though the young lieutenant hadn't raised her voice, everyone in the vicinity seemed to freeze and stare at them in disconcerted surprise, trying to figure out if what they were saying could possibly be true. Most people had anticipated some form of German attack, but something as audacious and methodical as an assault on their whole territory was nevertheless a shock.

"Captain, due respect, but you're seeing ghosts," Lieutenant Jones remarked slowly, scrutinizing Eleanor skeptically, yet even in his cynic expression she could see a hint of consternation. She shook her head.

"No," she maintained, "No, I'm certain of this- it can't be a coincidence."

Jones made a sound of disdain and rolled his eyes impatiently. "Not everything's connected!"

"Why else would the Germans risk crossing the river and make a run for second battalion?" Eleanor demanded in turn, louder than she'd intended. _Damn it, don't let him get to you. You can't afford to waste any more time._

"And why would they do so hours before the Luftwaffe decides to bomb us?"

What few people hadn't been listening in before were sure as hell doing so now. Betty, sensing the unease around her, intervened from where she'd been standing on the sidelines. "The Krauts have been quiet for so long-" she started to say, all placation and tact, but Eleanor was too annoyed - at herself, at command, at the world at large - and twitchy to pay any heed to it.

"Which is _exactly_ why they'd strike now!" she interrupted, pushing herself away from the table and throwing up her arms, "They're trying to take us by surprise and it's bloody well working."

To her alarm, Maria - still wearing a concerned frown - joined in and raised the exact topic Eleanor had feared she would. "Captain, you've been tired," she said softly, and some irrational part of Eleanor felt a stab of non-existent betrayal, "Are you sure-"

One sharp look from her CO and the nurse fell abruptly silent. So they were talking about me, Eleanor thought, hardening herself against the perceived duplicity and ignoring the fact that it was not a wholly unfair observation. Tense seconds ticked by until the radioman cleared his throat awkwardly and spoke up.

"Ma'am, I can't get a hold of headquarters."

"What about a telephone line?" Evelyn suggested from where she was patching up a head wound. The sergeant pressed his lips together, fiddling with the receiver nervously.

"We don't have one in here, ma'am. The nearest is a few blocks away."

_Just our luck, huh?_ "Yeah," Eleanor murmured and, like she had all those years ago near Vichy, made her decision - _fight_. She had to do something, could be finally be useful again, and given that they appeared to be surrounded there were few other options available to her. "Betty, can you manage things here?"

Her second's eyes widened, and Betty made no attempt to hide that she was taken aback this time. "You're going over there?"

"Regiment needs to know what's going on," Eleanor said resolutely, moving away from the table and heading towards what had once been the teacher's lounge. _And so do I. It's about time we get this sorted_. The assembled group followed behind her like a flock of geese, albeit a decidedly quiet one, each left to their own thoughts and concerns.

"I'm sure they know-" Betty tried to object, but Eleanor once again cut her off with a stern raise of her eyebrows.

"Can you manage things here?" she repeated, perversely pleased when the other woman almost physically shrunk back at the frigid tone and nodded her head dutifully.

"Yes ma'am."

Eleanor stopped and turned around, appraising the others as they skidded to a halt before her. _Who do I want on this..._ "Nancy, Judy," she said after a beat of contemplation, her gaze landing on Maria next. _I want her close. That way at least I can keep an eye on her._ "Maria," she added, pushing the door of the teacher's lounge open, "Grab your gear, you're coming with."

And just like that, the group dispersed, Betty and the other nurses returning to their duties around the aid station while Eleanor and her chosen team went to get their equipment. Jones - for reasons Eleanor couldn't be wholly sure of - was the only one to follow the women inside, trailing Eleanor as she went about the room.

"This is insane-" he protested, only to find himself decidedly ignored. As the others found their helmets, Eleanor snatched up her rifle and swiftly checked the cartridge; without so much as a word, Nancy ambled over and handed her a musette bag of additional ammunition. The operative smiled briefly and unbuckled her sidearm - the same one she'd pressed to Maria's neck less than half an hour before, though that was something she chose not to mention - and held it out to her.

"Take this. I want you to cover the rear."

"Yes ma'am."

"Captain!" Jones tried again, but to no avail. Checking her subordinates' gear until she was satisfied they were ready, Eleanor took a deep breath and, adrenalin still going strong, inclined her head towards the door.

"Come on. We're moving out."

"Colonel Sink will hear of this!" Jones shouted after them, frustration audible in his every word. Eleanor merely readjusted her rifle where it hung from her shoulder.

"That was the general idea, yes," she tossed back at him, "Hold down the fort, _lieutenant_." She led the trio of women out of the aid station and down the bomb-wrecked street, refusing to acknowledge the mixed looks of discomfit and esteem aimed her way. They were nearing the alley that would lead them to their destination when Maria spoke up out of the blue.

"Eleanor-"

_God damn it, not now._ Eleanor wheeled to face her, concern and fear mingling with frustration and misplaced anger. _She should not have questioned my authority the way she did._ "Don't talk to me like that in front of people," she hissed, not bothering to elaborate; she had a feeling Maria would have a pretty good idea of what she meant.

By the way she winced, she certainly did. "I'm sorry, I just think-"

"No," Eleanor snapped, "You can think whatever you want, but I'm your commanding officer and you don't talk to me like that in front of people. Are we clear?"

Maria, though she looked ill at ease, lowered her eyes compliantly. "Yes Captain."

Eleanor exhaled slowly; a nasty voice whispered _she's right, you should stop and think, you pulled your bloody gun on her, this is exactly the kind of commanding officer you did not want to become_- but she squashed it and focused on the task at hand instead.

"Let's go."

* * *

The streets of Opheusden were in chaos. Everywhere they went buildings were bombed and roads were blocked, bloodied civilians and soldiers alike staggering by and the sound of gunfire drawing ever closer. Eleanor led her team along the roads steadily, sneaking through alleyways where they could and directing whoever they came across to the aid station; none of them seemed to have any more idea of what was going on than the nurses already did. The plan to get to the house with the telephone line soon had to be abandoned when their intended route turned out to have more than a few sizable craters in it. In an odd way, it reminded Eleanor of the old obstacle courses they used to run, ducking and weaving and improvising their way ahead. There was no set destination this time, of course, but it was testing their stamina as surely as the training exercise had - probably more so.

It wasn't long after they had rerouted their plans that they found themselves in the midst of the fighting; Eleanor's estimation that there were troops moving to the west turned out to be right, though they had progressed a lot faster than she'd foreseen. Pressing herself up against a wall and motioning for her team to do the same, she tentatively peeked her head out around its corner to gain some idea of what - or even who - they were up against. She was just able to catch a flash of movement before there was the sharp zing of an incoming bullet and several guns opened fire.

Shots ricocheted off the bricks, spraying debris as they bored themselves into the house with stupefying force. Though Eleanor hadn't ventured out far enough and was sufficiently fast to withdraw to keep herself from getting shot, pieces of the rubble flew past her and caught on her cheekbone; she flinched back and shrunk against the wall, hand flying up to her face.

"Ow!"

Judy, hunkered down next to her, immediately moved to check on her. "Captain-"

"It's nothing," she gulped, having assured herself that it was little more than a scrape or two; she'd had worse. _Breathe. You're all right._ When she lowered her hand, she realized the shots weren't only coming from the place she'd been looking at - they were coming from the other side as well, and were now being interchanged at a frequent rate.

"Sounds like a 30 cal," Maria observed, having to raise her voice to make herself heard over the din. Nancy, having come to the same deduction, scowled wearily.

"Which means we're right in the middle."

She was right: somehow, the four of them had gotten stuck between the two lines and were being fired at by both the German and American troops. _Well, shit._ Judy - still trying to convince Eleanor to let her have a look at the wounds on her face - frowned, not entirely sure how they'd manage to get themselves into this pickle. "How did this happen?"

"This street curves around a few others, I think," Eleanor said, glimpsing a name on the house opposite and remembering it from the maps she'd spent hours studying.

"There's a passageway between the houses, about a hundred meters back," Nancy remembered, inclining her head towards a corner some ways away, "I'd say it comes out on a parallel street."

"Good call," Eleanor commended, knowing that if Nancy was right - as she expected she might be - the passageway would likely get them to the American side of the fight. "All right, let's go. Stay close to the wall."

They crept along the houses stealthily, crossing to the other side of the street only when forced to; as Nancy had predicted there was indeed a small corridor towards an adjoining road, darkened by the houses looming on either side of the narrow passage. In the distance, they could still hear the shots ringing out, and Eleanor raised her hand when they neared the end of it.

"Wait," she whispered, "Hold here." _I'm pretty sure we're on the right side, but it doesn't hurt to check..._ She wracked her brain for the current challenge and pass and, having recalled it, leaned out slightly as she had moments ago.

"Pennsylvania!" she yelled, subconsciously holding her breath and poised to pull back should they start firing at her again. To her relief, the voice that answered her was distinctly American and unaccompanied by gunshots.

"36000!"

She could feel the others relax right alongside her. _Thank God._ "We're coming through!" They were met by a sight for sore eyes when they rounded the corner: almost a company's worth of men spread out along the line of houses, some injured but most of them seeming simply anxious to get a move on. Only a small group were gathered at the far end of the street and returning the German fire which was - somewhat haphazardly, given that both sides were shooting from an angle - being leveled at them. The nurses pushed through the crowd, Maria and Judy pausing every so often to check on a wounded soldier while Eleanor searched for an officer to talk to. It didn't take her long to find one.

"Lieutenant."

"Ma'am," he exclaimed, eyes wide as he snapped a jittery salute; of all the things he'd expected to see four nurses showing up in the middle of a combat zone was probably the last he'd considered, but he was too overwhelmed with keeping an eye on his troops to raise the issue. While she couldn't place him straight away - she wasn't as familiar with third battalion as she was with second - Eleanor smiled at him kindly. _Poor thing, he can't be much older than most of the men he's supposed to lead- and by the looks of him, he's a replacement to boot._

"Good to see a friendly face," she said, slinging her rifle back around her shoulder, "Who's in charge here?"

The young lieutenant looked almost comically relieved to have been asked a question he knew the answer to. "Captain Hester, sir!" he called, much to Eleanor's surprise - her friend was supposed to be at regimental headquarters several miles away to the east, certainly not in the middle of Opheusden.

"Yeah!" the man in question shouted, swiveling to see who'd summoned him and eyes widening as much as lieutenant's had when he noticed Eleanor standing among the men. "Ellie, what-" he faltered, confusion giving way to concern, "You're bleeding-"

"And you're not where you're supposed to be," she retorted easily, fighting the urge to wipe at the lacerations along her cheekbone. Hester blinked owlishly for a moment, then shook his head.

"Colonel Sink sent me yesterday," he dismissed, reaching out a hand towards her face, "Are you-"

She swatted him away impatiently. "Fine," she said, exasperated, "You got any idea what's going on?"

Briefly it seemed as though Hester would continue to question her, his expression becoming calculating for a fleeting instant, but eventually he broke his gaze away and glanced back over his shoulder. "I was taking a walk out on the line when the planes came in," he recounted, "We were so preoccupied with getting the anti-aircraft up we didn't really notice the ground troops until they started firing at us."

_Just as I thought, then - they've taken us by surprise and it's bloody well working._ "What are we up against?"

"Volksgrenadier, looks like," Hester breathed, breaking the conversation momentarily to relay an order to one of the machine gun teams before carrying on, "We were forced to fall back here- most of the line was pushed back, in fact."

Eleanor nodded slowly, readjusting her mental map of the area and factoring in this latest revelation. "And now you're at an impasse," she guessed, ducking her head on instinct when the 30 cal shot off another burst of ammo, "Any word from headquarters?"

"No," Hester said, motioning towards what appeared to be a severely damaged radio set; it was hard to tell, given how mangled it was. "We haven't been able to get through to them."

_Ah, hell._ "Neither could we," Eleanor said wearily, looking at the men assembled behind them where they leaned against the facade of the houses. She caught sight of one of the more elaborate gables and, with a flash of memory, realized where she was. _I'm not just imagining things again, am I?_ "Hold on, I know this street," she murmured, twisting around to find another distinguishable landmark nearby and confirm her suspicion. _Got it. _

"There's a telephone right across from here." _Right across the German line of fire, too._

"I know," Hester said, and she could see his jaw shifting as though he were quietly grinding his teeth together - something she knew to be a nervous habit of his, even if it didn't show very often. "We tried to get someone across to it a while ago, but they got pinned down by an MG-42 before they could get to it."

Following his line of sight, Eleanor now noticed the slightest inch of an American helmet sticking out above the windowsill of one of the houses across the adjoining street. "Right." It was a classic stalemate: both parties stuck on different ends of the same road and taking cover behind opposing corners of intersecting streets, unable to move for fear of being spotted. _Unless..._

Her hand tightened around the strap of her rifle. "Judy, give me your mirror."

Looking up from the soldier she'd been looking after, Judy gaped wordlessly before blushing fiercely. "I don't-"

"I know you've got it on you," Eleanor challenged, hoping she knew her subordinate as well as she thought she did and they wouldn't call her bluff, "Don't worry about that now, jut hand it over."

"Yes ma'am," Judy said repentantly, rummaging through one of her uniform's pockets and handing a small, engraved compact to her CO. Having received it, Eleanor turned to the nearest GI.

"Private, I'll need your gum," she said, much to his bemusement, "Anyone got a mess tin?" It took a bit longer to find that particular item - having abandoned their foxholes in haste earlier that morning, most of the men's cookery equipment had been left behind, yet after word had been passed down the rows of soldiers a tin was quickly passed back along.

_Necessity is the mother of all invention,_ Eleanor thought as she used the gum to affix the mirror to the long handle of the tin, _failing that, the SOE was a pretty ingenious teacher._ Captain Hester, who had up until then remained silent, caught on to what she was doing and abruptly shook his head.

"Oh, no. No way."

Eleanor didn't so much as flinch, wiggling the mirror back and forth to make sure it was stuck on properly. "You got a better idea?"

"It's a ridiculous idea!" Hester exclaimed, lowering his voice when he registered just how much louder than intended he'd been, "One well-aimed bazooka round and you're done for."

Now certain that her little gimmick wouldn't fall apart, she grinned at him brazenly and took her M-1 into her hands. "I'll have to move quickly then, won't I?"

"Have you even fired a rifle recently?" Hester demanded, eying his friend warily as she loaded her weapon. There was a wild, almost maniacal glint to her gaze that did not sit well with him; he knew she'd been frustrated by the way things had been going lately, but this sudden eagerness to get in on the action was disconcerting.

"I had some practice in Aldbourne."

"I meant in combat!"

"Well," she said matter-of-factly, clicking a new cartridge clip into place, "There was that sniper outside of Carentan."

"Whom you missed," Hester reminded her, equally deadpan; he had a pretty good idea of what she was planning on doing, and while he had every confidence in her intelligence work and knew she'd gone through some unimaginable things when they were all still in basic training, he did not like the thought of it much. There had to be another way - one that didn't put her in even further danger and wouldn't have her seeming quite this unhinged.

Fed up with being questioned - _what is with people today?_ - Eleanor straightened out and squared her shoulders. "I hit the tree, as a matter of fact."

"It's still reckless and stupid-" Hester said, grabbing her by the arm when she threatened to turn away, "Jesus, Ellie, what do I tell D-"

_Oh, don't you dare bring him into this._ Eleanor opened her mouth, fully prepared to give him a piece of her mind and tell him where to stick it, but when she whirled around and saw the honest concern in his expression she felt the fight drain out of her and some semblance of sense return. Maria's worried face flickered past her eyes and she felt herself shiver; by the way Hester's hand tightened around her arm, he did too.

"Clay, please," she said softly, offering him a somewhat tremulous smile, "We're running out of time here. You know how important speed and surprise are in urban environments."_ Let me do this. I've been so useless lately- let me redeem myself._

Hester exhaled slowly and released her arm, patting it awkwardly for a moment. "Fine," he murmured, reluctantly, "But at least let me send one of my men across."

"Do any of them know the full protocols for telephone tranmissions?" Eleanor asked, realizing that her plan had one flaw that she'd previously overlooked - if she was to be the distraction, then who would be the one to call the intelligence in? There was a whole series of procedures and codes to ensure that the information was legitimate and the caller friendly, and Eleanor doubted many outside of the intelligence branch knew them.

"No, but-"

"I'll go."

Both officers gazed up at the sudden interruption, finding Maria walk up to them cautiously. The younger woman smiled faintly - a touch apologetically - and crossed her arms. "I could recite those damn things in my sleep if I had to," she said, shrugging, "And you know I'm the fastest runner."

Eleanor swallowed down the lump in her throat. _She's trying to redeem herself, too_. There was really no reason that she should - she had done nothing wrong, and Eleanor knew that - yet the captain could not find it in her heart to deny her, nor to pass up the chance of getting to the telephone.

"All right," she said slowly, holding out the mess tin with the mirror to her friend, "All right, take this, wait until you see them redirect their fire. Do not stop running until you reach the house." Her mouth felt dry, her heart beat irregularly, but she continued on regardless. "Once you're there, you should be fine. They can't hit it at an angle like this."

Maria nodded solemnly. "Yes ma'am."

Looking from Maria to Hester - who was grim-faced but didn't protest - and back to Maria again, Eleanor steeled herself for what she was about to do. "Good luck," she told them both, adding a mental _and please don't die_ to it as she set off towards a nearby house. The building was deserted as most of the houses were, the thin layer of dust that had settled over the furniture disturbed in streaks where soldiers had sat down or rummaged around to look for food. Sweeping past them swiftly, Eleanor bounded all the way up the stairs and into the attic, cautiously opening one of the small latticed windows and peering outside. The fact that she was this high up meant she had a decent vantage point over the happenings below and she took a moment to memorize them; the situation was rather exactly as Hester had described it to her, but knowing the specifics was always preferable.

Satisfied with her observations, Eleanor grabbed a chair and set it - back against the wall - underneath the window, lowering one knee onto it and her rifle onto the windowsill. Adjusting the scope and shifting her sight around, she found the machine gun team that had been causing the men downstairs so much trouble. She closed her eyes, centered herself, focused. _Breathe in._ She opened her eyes, adjusted her aim minutely. _Breathe out_. Blink. _Fire_.

One man went down, then the other, creating the exact sort of panic and disorder she'd hoped it would as the rest of the German soldiers scrambled around to try and find out what was going on. Critically, the machine gun fell silent for several long moments - a minute at least - until one of the officers had the piece of mind to order the bodies removed and others to take over their work. A minute of reprieve would hopefully be all that Maria had needed to get across; it would have been just enough of a distraction to get them in touch with headquarters and call in for support.

Eleanor, job done, began to move away when something caught her eye and had her freezing in her spot. One of the Germans, most likely a senior NCO or something along those lines, was shouting down at one of his fellow soldiers - a common enough occurrence had it not been for the fact that the soldier being shouted at looked all of about twelve. Something deep inside of Eleanor ached at the sight of the terrified boy, cowering in fear and clamping his hands over his ears, and she remembered the American lieutenant who had greeted her earlier. He'd been young, yes, but nowhere near as young as this lad, and while he'd been scared it was a natural reaction to the stress of combat rather than combination of that with a fear of his own superiors. She'd felt sorry for the earnest replacement looey, but she downright pitied this German child, so far away from home and seeming so utterly lost. The sheer madness of this war would never cease to amaze her.

Sighing softly, she moved back into position and peered down the scope, finding the NCO's head among her crosshairs. Her finger hesitated on the trigger; if she were to shoot him now, he'd fall down right next to the boy, something that would probably just traumatize the young soldier further. _Then again, this is war. He'll see a lot worse things before this is over._ She winced and took a breath. _Small mercies._ "Sorry, kid," she breathed - and shot. The screaming stopped.

Unfortunately, so did the confusion: the Germans had now figured where the unexplained rounds were coming from and were already loading up a mortar tube. She'd lingered too long and exposed herself. Swearing under her breath, Eleanor grabbed her gun and bolted for the stairs, hightailing it back down as quickly as she could; she had just about made it to the front door and threw herself out towards the street, feeling the building reverberate as it got hit above her and the force of it knock her forward - still, for a glorious split-second, thinking that she'd gotten out all right- when suddenly the whole world went hazy around her before turning deeply, immutably black.

Black. The world was _black_.

This couldn't possibly be good.

* * *

**I'm sure you must all be sick and tired of the apologies and delays, but I really am very sorry that it has taken me so long to get this up! Life's been pretty hectic of late, and combined with a healthy dose of writer's block this chapter has been ages in the making. I just hope it didn't disappoint too much! Your messages of appreciation and support meant - and still mean - the world to me. More to follow soon(ish). 3**


	32. Stormy Weather

**Disclaimer: this story is based chiefly on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.**

Author's note up front this time - as promised, here's the new chapter! Thank you for all the lovely messages of support and your patience in waiting for an update; I have agonized over this chapter for (literal) months and still aren't really happy with it, but it's time to move forward and I hope you'll enjoy it regardless!

* * *

_She hadn't been able to stop shaking._

_Slumped against one of the ribbed steel huts that dotted the outskirts of the airfield, Eleanor had idly watched the tea she'd been given slosh around its cup. The china had been almost laughably fine in comparison to the state of her hands; her cuticles had still been stained with the remnants of blood, her knuckles covered with scrapes and abrasions that stung when she'd flexed her fingers. She had strained to remember their origin - whose blood it had been, or just how she'd gotten any of the minor injuries that were scattered across her body - but had soon found that she was unable to, grasping at fragments of fear and friendship but little else besides._

_Nothing had seemed real. Memories had blurred together and left a grayish haze of smoke and snow that had overshadowed the world around her until all that had been left was a strange sense of disconnect, a feeling of being adrift along the edges of reality without ever really being able to grasp it. Though some distant part of her had known that she'd been plucked from the depths of occupied France earlier that morning, she had barely been able to recall the plane that had scrambled to bring her home, much less what had happened before then. It had been hard to believe that she'd been in Vichy only a matter of hours ago, and in the midst of combat at that; all she'd been aware of were tiny, inane details, like the frost-covered blades of grass beneath her or the nearby sound of flowing water. Maybe if she'd focus on them long enough the war would end and everything would be all right again._

_"Lieutenant Fairfax?"_

_She had looked up to find a stranger standing over her, the outline of his body silhouetted against the rising sun. It had taken several long seconds of squinting before she'd been able to make out his air force insignia, and longer still to put two and two together and realize he was in fact an RAF doctor. Raising her hand to shield her eyes had jostled her injured shoulder and made her wince, but at least she'd been able to make out his features: unfamiliar, but bearing the same bland smile that many of his profession possessed._

_"Where-" she'd rasped, her voice coming out as a dry croak before she cleared her throat, "Where am I?" It had occurred to her that she must be on an airbase somewhere, but what she'd been able to see of it had appeared much the same as most others she'd been to, except perhaps a bit smaller. There'd been no distinguishing features of any kind._

_"Heigham Holmes, lass," the doctor had answered, and Eleanor thought she'd heard the lilt of the Welsh coast in his words. She'd nodded dazedly; she knew it was a mostly covert base, hidden away in the Norfolk countryside for the SOE's use. It had made sense at the time to have been brought there._

_"My name is Awbrey," the man had continued, sharp grey eyes narrowing at her thoughtfully, "Aren't you could, lieutenant?"_

_Eleanor had blinked. "A little," she'd admitted, smiling faintly when the medic had held out his hand and helped her up. He had seemed to conjure a blanket from out of nowhere, draping it around her aching shoulders with surprising gentleness._

_"You must be exhausted."_

_The question had struck her as strange; of course she was. She'd doubted there was anyone around who could claim otherwise, not after the kind of week they'd been through. Fremont alone had taken two watches in a row-_

_Her leg had jerked without warning, muscles spasming of their own accord and her heart suddenly beating rapidly in her chest. Fremont had died, hadn't he? She'd glanced around then, seeing a handful of men in Royal Air Force uniforms, some sparing her curious glimpses of their own while others marched stoically past, and she'd finally started to regain her bearings._

_"Lieutenant?"_

_"I am tired," she had whispered, pulling the edges of the rough-woven blanket closer around her as though to protect herself from the awful truth and the dreaded memories. Awbrey had smiled, tight-lipped but sympathetic._

_"That's right," he had said, and Eleanor would forever remember his faintly patronizing pity, "There are people who are worried about you, lieutenant. I think perhaps you ought to take a bit of sick leave."_

_"But why?" Eleanor had asked plaintively, hating how child-like she had sounded when her eyes met the doctor's. As much as she had wanted to sleep and had known - no matter how remotely - that she needed to recuperate, she had realized that she had not wanted to; there had been so much still to do, so many things that still needed to be fixed. She had left Vichy in disarray, not a small amount of which she had considered her own culpability, and she had not been able to imagine herself settling down to rest. What if the higher ups had somehow been dissatisfied with her work and would not allow her to continue it?_

_"I haven't done anything wrong, have I?"_

_"Of course not," Awbrey had assured her, carefully taking her by the elbow and steering her towards the main buildings of the base, "And I'm a doctor, my dear, I only care for your well-being. That shoulder of yours looks like it might sting a bit."_

_'Sting' had been an understatement where several inches of shrapnel stuck in her flesh had been concerned, but Eleanor had let it slip along with any thought of putting up a fight. The exhaustion had just been too much._

_She had never felt more lost._

* * *

Someone was touching her forehead.

No, not just touching it; dabbing it, almost as though they were blotting something away from her skin with some kind of soft and fuzzy object she couldn't quite identify-

Soft and fuzzy and stinging horribly. _Son of a bitch._ Pain kicked in along with panic and flared abruptly, pounding between her temples and pushing down on her ribcage until it became hard to breathe. There was an incessant ringing in her ears that seemed to have put all of her other senses into overdrive, making her acutely aware of the sharp tang of blood in the air and the precariousness of her predicament. She forced her eyes open and bolted upright with single, floundering motion, snatching up the wrist of whoever was tending to her simultaneously.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded, narrowing her eyes suspiciously though she had trouble focusing on any of the shapeless blurs in front of them. It was a sure sign of head trauma - something she knew did not bode well for her at all - but at least she felt a little more lucid now. It dawned on her that the blood she'd smelled was at least partially her own, congealing at a number places on her face and soiling one of the sleeves of her uniform, and that while nothing felt particularly broken there was plenty of bruising to go around. Still, it was obvious that some of her injuries had already been seen to, the gashes covered in gauze and fenced in by medical tape that pulled uncomfortably at her skin; combined with the lingering scent of antiseptic, she was almost certain she was at an aid station.

For the time being, she thought she might be safe.

Meanwhile the man whose arm she'd seized was somewhat less at ease, his big brown eyes widening and an equally sizable set of lips pressing together in faint alarm. "Private Wade, ma'am," he said slowly, trying to determine the chances of her actually hurting him, "From Baker Company. I was sent to look after you."

_He would be a medic, wouldn't he?_ Now that the vertigo that had previously plagued her was gradually starting to fade and Eleanor had more time to observe him, she could not help but notice that the stranger's whole manner practically screamed it. His expression smoothed into an impassive if not wholly unfriendly smile the moment she let go of him, and everything from that calm upturn of his mouth to the carefully neutral way in which he'd introduced himself had her convinced that he'd been the one to care for her injuries. Sure enough, a glimpse at his arm confirmed her suspicion, the faded red and white of his insignia still a stark contrast against the khaki of his uniform.

"Of course you were," she muttered, gingerly attempting to prop herself up on her elbows. Where was she? Her direct surroundings seemed to be a supply room of sorts, but that was all she was able to discern from them; as far as she could tell there was no sign of artillery or gunfire nearby, but then this could either mean that she'd been taken further down the line, or that the hostilities had ceased altogether. The latter seemed unlikely, though, given how fresh her wounds were and how chaotic things had been before she lost consciousness.

She winced. Whatever the details, narrowly escaping from an exploding building had not done her any favors. Her injuries in themselves didn't seem to dire, but exhaustion coupled with what she suspected might be a concussion were making her utterly, helplessly dizzy. Even the otherwise simple process of sitting up had been a challenge, the whole of her upper body swaying perilously whenever she moved as much as an inch. It felt like she was coming apart at the seams. She wanted to get up and get back to work, but knew that she might not be able to; she wanted to rest and wait until the world went away, but knew that she could not. Above all else, there was a permeating sense of shame, of having failed yet again- of being too fragile, too human. She hated it.

How could she not have seen the German counterattack coming? How could she have let her own mistakes - the same mistakes, always the same mistakes - put so many lives in danger?

"Captain?"

The medic's voice startled her out of her ruminations. She smiled at him thinly. "I'm fine, private," she said, though she knew it was far from the truth; if she could repeat mistakes, then she could also repeat the tenacity that had gotten her through numerous missions in the past. Willpower went a surprisingly long way when she needed it to.

Wade, however, seemed to think differently. Catching her around the shoulders when she inched towards the side of the table she'd been placed on and threatened to topple over, he steadied her carefully and held on. "Easy, easy," he said, fussing over the butterfly bandages along her temple, "You hit your head pretty hard, ma'am. It was bleeding something awful before."

"Heads have a way of doing that," Eleanor grumbled, shrugging out of his hold and bracing herself against the next wave of lightheadedness. _Shallow breaths. Come on._ Pressing her hand against her ribcage, she tried to work out if anything was broken; at best she'd sprained a few muscles, but given her recent bout of luck - or lack thereof, rather - she had a feeling it might just be worse, and worse would mean even less of a chance of putting things to right.

Because, in her mind, there were no other options left: she had to go out there and fix things as best she could, no matter what it might entail.

"The women who came in with me-"

"Are all safe and unharmed," Wade reassured her, "And no, nothing's broken, I think. I'd like to check you for concussion though."

"I'm fine," Eleanor repeated, but it sounded weak even to her own ears. The medic smiled indulgently.

"Of course you are, ma'am," he said, so deadpan that she couldn't decide whether he was mocking her or not, and raised his index finger until it was in front of her face. "Follow my finger."

Rolling her eyes in exasperation and immediately making a mental note not to do so again as it only aggravated the ache between her temples, she sighed and gave in to his demands. "Fine," she said, tracing Wade's gestures - up, down, left, right, first one way and then back again - with more effort than it reasonably ought to have taken her. _Damn it, they'll never let me go like this..._

"As I thought," Wade clucked, frowning all the more when he noticed her squint before blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear her sight. "Your vision's blurring, isn't it?"

Eleanor was on the verge of protesting when the doorknob clanked and twisted across the room, indicating that someone was trying to get into the small storage. Grabbing hold of Wade's shoulder, she glared at him in warning. "You'll not breathe a word of this if you know what's good for you," she hissed under her breath, hoping he'd heed the unspoken threat behind it, "Especially not to the other officers."

They younger man's already large eyes grew impossibly larger. "Yes ma'am."

_Message received, then. Good._ She straightened out as the door opened, plastering on a pleasant smile for whoever would be coming through it, yet it faltered when she saw it was Maria; brave, bold Maria who had unintentionally been on the receiving end of Eleanor's own sidearm and had dashed across a street well in range of German machine guns only hours after. In more ways than one she was lucky to be alive, something Eleanor was painfully aware of and felt more than a little guilty about.

"You're awake, Captain," the nurse noted with relief, cheeks dimpling as she set down the empty ration box she'd been carrying. Eleanor barely managed to suppress a grimace at the warmth in her voice.

"Just about," she said, watching Maria scurry around for a moment before adding, "Wade here was just getting ready to leave, too." Turning back towards him, she arched an eyebrow and effectively stilled whatever objections he might have wanted to raise. "Weren't you, private?"

Though he scowled at her unhappily, Wade wisely held his tongue and backed away, nodding at Maria before closing the door behind him. Eleanor, for her part, gingerly moved her legs off the table and turned to her subordinate, silently praying she wouldn't notice the way she was clutching at the edge of the wood to keep her balance.

"What happened?" she asked simply, well aware she'd need an update on what was going on if she were to be of any use. Sighing softly, Maria settled down on the table across from the one Eleanor was on.

"Well," she said, as though she wasn't quite sure where to start, "I made it to that telephone."

Eleanor couldn't help but chuckle at that. "No kidding."

"Yeah," Maria said, ducking her head with a wry smile, "Thank God it actually worked." She stared down at her hands for several long seconds, pensively rubbing her fingers together until her smile had vanished and had been replaced by an expression of seriousness that - while not wholly unusual - did not suit her pretty face.

"I'd barely gotten inside when that building you were in exploded," she said, shaking her head as she raised her eyes to her CO's, "It took so long for the dust to clear, and the machine guns had started up again so I couldn't hear a thing- I was worried-"

"Hey," Eleanor cut in gently, reaching out to touch her friend's knee, "I'm all right. It's only a few scrapes and bruises."

"Captain Hester didn't seem to think so," Maria countered, "Poor man was nearly besides himself when I got back to him."

_Ah, geez._ Hester had disliked her plan from the get-go and the last thing Eleanor had wanted was to worry him further, but now it seemed she had done exactly that. _Another notch on my long list of recent misjudgments and mistakes._ "I'm sorry," she said, closing her eyes and swallowing uneasily, "And Maria, I'm so sorry about what happened this morning. I didn't mean- I thought you were someone else."

"I know," Maria breathed, smiling faintly, "It wasn't your fault. Not really, anyway." _Wasn't it,_ Eleanor wanted to argue, _shouldn't I have anticipated my own descend into shell shock and memory?_ But Maria did not bring it up again; not as she had done before.

"As for earlier, you took a calculated risk and it worked out well for the most part," she said instead, almost encouragingly, "Nothing wrong with that, right?"

"Right." And perhaps she was; this was war. Most of what they did involved some form of risk, generally anticipated ones, but they did it anyway and hoped for the best in terms of the outcome- another thing which had been far worse in the past. Eleanor bit her lip and shifted her weight around in an attempt to get comfortable, trying to hide as well as ignore the persisting ache in her torso. If Maria's dubious look was anything to go on, she wasn't very successful in doing so.

"So what happened once you got to the telephone?"

"I finally got through to battalion," Maria said, swinging her legs underneath the table as though she were nothing more than a young girl, "But they couldn't really tell me anything we didn't already suspect. Town's under attack from the north and west, second's seen action and taking casualties, that sort of thing. They did sent reinforcements, though, which is how we eventually got to the CP."

_So I'm at third battalion's CP, then - but what about our objective?_ "Did you get a chance to talk to the other officers?"

Maria scowled. "I tried, but the phone was occupied and they wouldn't let me in."

_Should have known_, Eleanor thought, not at all surprised but nonetheless disappointed. "Do you have any idea what's going on?"

"Best guess?" Maria shrugged, "We're at another stalemate and they're trying to decide what to do next. Most of the battalion staff is holed up down the hall."

It wasn't what Eleanor had hoped for, and it was far from an ideal overview of the situation, but it was a start. She knew where she was and where she'd have to go; the rest could be filled in as she went along. The remaining uncertainties irked her, of course, but less so than the prospect of not being able to do anything about them. Maria was likely to have been turned away because of her inferior commission and the fact that she was a woman, which was bad enough, but at least she hadn't been injured. What would the men of third battalion - men she didn't know particularly well - make of her when she insisted to be let in on their meeting? She knew she must look a wreck; would they see a damsel in distress and take pity on her, or would they see a wounded comrade and admire her for her stamina? More importantly, would either of those things get her inside?

After all, that what was it came down to: she wanted, craved, _had_ to get into that room. She was itching for action, to be at the eye of the storm again and see this mess through- to mend what she had broken._ Too many notches on my stick, too much red in my ledger. I've got to talk to them and put things to right._ She glanced down at her rifle where it had been rested against a table leg, old tactics and strategies whirling through her mind. Gut instinct told her matters were stagnating all over again - why else was there such a resounding silence outside? - and she didn't much like it; she'd fought in urban environments often enough to know they required stealth and, above all else, swift decisive movements that might overwhelm the enemy.

Adrenalin returned and took the edge off her wounds. She could not help but be reminded of something that had happened in Eindhoven- a minor detail in the grand scheme of things, a danger soon forgotten once they'd gotten into proper combat, but something that when reversed might come in use. _We could seriously undermine the German offensive by striking where it hurts the most. Take out the leadership, and what would they be left with?_ It was the same tactic that'd had the American officers turning up their collars when they'd first arrived in Holland; officers and even senior NCOs made excellent targets, especially in the middle of a city. _Snipers_, Harry Welsh's voice echoed through her head. _Of course_.

Eleanor knew the potential merit of such tactics better than most; she'd had similar missions while undercover in France, had pursued key players and taken them out to create chaos among the enemy. Surely this wouldn't be all that different. There'd be more hoops to jump through and new factors take into consideration now, but the basic concept was practically identical. She pressed her lips together and let her fingers drift past the cold barrel of her weapon. Maybe, just maybe...

"I'm going over there," she decided, slipping off the table and wavering only briefly. She pulled her shoulders back and grabbed her rifle the moment she was steady enough to do so. _First: get to the other officers, tell them what you know. Two: make sure the rest of the regiment does, too, and figure out what the hell is going on with second battalion. Third: get the Krauts out of Opheusden._ She exhaled forcefully and waited for the room to stop spinning. _Easier said than done, of course._

"Are you sure that's wise, Captain?" Maria asked, jumping off her own seat in an instant, "You've been out for nearly an hour, you should really rest-"

"All the more reason to get a move on," Eleanor retorted easily, smiling at her subordinate in reassurance, "Do me a favor, though, and get back to base. They'll need all the help they can get. Take Nancy and Judy with you." If she was going to be taking any more risks - no matter how calculated - she didn't want her team anywhere near it. Though their aid station was still a good deal too close to the lines for her liking, it was far enough south that they might have a chance of escape if it came down to that. Eleanor wasn't sure how long the same would apply to the battalion CP.

"But ma'am-"

"Please, Maria," Eleanor said, resting a hand on her shoulder, "Could you do that for me? I might be a while."

"What are you planning to do?" Maria asked warily, not at all at ease with the situation but at a loss as to how to respond to it. Eleanor squeezed her shoulder one last time before letting go.

"I need to talk with the other officers first and share intel first," she said, securing her loosened webbing and slinging her rifle onto her arm, "I'll figure out where to go from there." Blood dripped from the wound on her arm and soaked its bandage, but to Eleanor's relief it hadn't saturated her sleeve any further yet. The rust-like stains on it were bad enough as they were.

Like Private Wade before her, Maria was less than thrilled with her CO's schemes- yet unlike him, she had no reasonable grounds to object to them. The captain's wounds had been seen to, she was up and moving and evidently lucid, and while she made for a poor sight she seemed - at least superficially - as well as could be expected. She always was more focused during combat, this much Maria knew to be true; plus, as she had made abundantly clear earlier that day, she was her direct superior and expected her to follow orders. The only choice the nurse had was to report her to the higher ups, but that could get them all into trouble and thus wasn't much of an option at all. She sighed. No, she'd have to trust Eleanor would indeed be fine or, failing that, the more senior officers would pick up on any possible problems. Knowing Clarence Hester, Maria did not doubt that he would.

"All right," she said warily, thought doubts lingered and she wasn't any happier about the situation at all, "Just promise me you'll look after yourself, Eleanor. I'd hate to have to explain to Captain Winters how you managed to get blown up twice in one day."

"Calculated risks, right?" Eleanor dismissed, flicking Maria around the head playfully soon after in order to distract her. "Careful with the cheek, there," she added fondly, remembering giving the same warning to Evelyn before they'd set off for Holland. _Perhaps not everything has gone to hell._

"Wouldn't dare, ma'am," Maria was quick to assure her, though the glint in her eyes said otherwise as she opened the door, "After you."

They walked out into the hallway and said their goodbyes after Maria had pointed out the room the officers had assembled in; given the sentries at the door and the buzz emanating from it, Eleanor realized she could have probably found it just fine on her own. The sentries, however, were a potential stumbling block. She had a creeping suspicion they would try to stop her, but did not have the time - let alone the patience - to debate the issue with them.

A sizable group of junior officers and technical sergeant rushed past her, several of them carrying maps and other tools; clearly something was set to happen, and happen soon at that._ Hang on a minute..._ Dashing after the group and sliding in among them, she was glad to notice they barely batted an eyelash, too preoccupied by their own business to pay her much notice. She kept her head down and slid into the room along with them, side-stepping an enlisted aide, stealing past another officer, almost at the table in the middle of the room when suddenly-

"Fairfax, what in God's name is the meaning of this?"

_Crap_. The empty smile she'd initially turned on Maria reappeared on her face virtually of its own accord. "Colonel LaPrade, sir," she said, "I was hoping I would find you here."

"No offense, captain, but the feeling isn't mutual," the battalion CO said, looking her up and down suspiciously, "You look like hell." He turned to one of the men standing nearby, raising a quizzical eyebrow. "I thought you'd assigned a medic to look after her?"

The lieutenant - one of Baker's grade officers, Eleanor knew - nodded a little hesitantly. "I did, sir," he confirmed, "I'm sure he-"

"Private Wade took excellent care of me, lieutenant," Eleanor chimed in smoothly, "As you can see, I'm quite recovered." She inclined her head at him in thanks before facing LaPrade again.

"I have some information which might be of interest to you, sir."

To her relief, LaPrade nodded. "Let's hear it, then," he said, crossing his arms and waiting for her to elaborate. Eleanor took a deep breath and began to recount the theory she'd mulled over in her mind for hours now.

"I have reason to believe the entire Island is under attack, sir. We spotted planes flying towards Dodewaard this morning-"

"We're aware Dodewaard has been hit. What else?"

_Come on, now, give a girl a chance_. "We received casualties from second battalion a few hours before the air raid. Their testimonies seemed to imply that the Germans have crossed the Rhine using the ferry near Randwijk and may be moving on Colonel Sink's CP-"

"We know. Second's beating them back as we speak."

"The men we're facing are Volksgrenadier-"

The colonel rolled his eyes. "We _kn_-"

"363rd, to be precise. I spotted their insignia when I was up in the attic."

A hush fell over the room, and even LaPrade seemed wordless for a moment. "That's new," he admitted, "But not of any particular use-"

"They're a ragtag bunch," Eleanor said, having few qualms about interrupting him after he'd done so to her several times over already, "Scattered, badly organized, low morale by the looks of it." She allowed herself a genuine smile for the punchline. "Seems like we finally found those old men and kids we've heard so much about."

"Far be it from me to underestimate them again," LaPrade muttered, taking to the various maps spread out nearby with a single-minded sense of scrutiny. "Thank you, captain, that'll be all."

_But what about the boys,_ Eleanor thought restlessly, _what about second battalion? They might be facing a force far greater than their own because of that damned ferry._ "Actually, sir, I was hoping I could use your phone-"

"It's occupied," LaPrade rebuffed her curtly, "You'll have to wait your turn." Eleanor, sensing she might not get much further with the lieutenant colonel, moved back towards the wall and slid along it to find herself as unobtrusive a spot as possible. As coincidence would have it she ended up next to Clarence Hester, who shot her a concerned look the second he'd spotted her.

She pointedly ignored him. "What's going on?" she asked quietly, watching the crowd of men that had gathered around the room converse amongst themselves and create a low, steady buzz with an undercurrent of tension. Hester followed her line of sight and pinched at the bridge of his nose.

"We've managed to halt the German advance," he said, equally hushed, "We're digging in along the line and fortifying our defenses while we wait for further reinforcements." He didn't sound particularly pleased, if resigned to the chosen course of action; but unlike Hester, Eleanor wasn't quite ready to give in yet. _As expected, _she thought gloomily,_ the last thing they should be doing- they're stalling. Goddammit._

"Colonel?" she called, nowhere near quiet now, her hand clenched into a fist around the strap of her rifle. The men fell silent again and turned to look at her, as though they were anticipating what she would be up to this time; rumors about her daring move at the blocked crossroads had already spread like wildfire and there were more than a few versions of how many men she'd shot going around. Combined with her unexpected appearance in the strategy meeting most troopers present were keen to see what this strange, unpredictable women would be doing next.

A muscle ticked in LaPrade's jaw; unlike some of his men he wasn't quite as eager to hear what she had to say this time. "Yes, Captain Fairfax?" he acknowledged her wearily, head dropping down briefly before he straightened out again.

"Sir, with your permission, I'd like to move along our lines-"

"What do you mean, 'move along our lines'?" LaPrade halted her almost immediately, his previously exasperated expression turning swiftly into one of bemusement. Eleanor exhaled slowly and forced herself to be patient.

"I'm hoping to find vantage points, sir. I might be able to take out key individuals among the German troops from there, create chaos among their ranks-"

"No!" Hester exclaimed without warning, making Eleanor cringe. It wasn't like her otherwise calm friend to burst out like that - especially not in the presence of senior officers - but she kept her back resolutely turned towards him, even when he stepped forward and closer to her.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, sir, but-"

"It wouldn't take much," Eleanor insisted, throwing up her hands in annoyance, "As I told you, the enemy's disordered and largely inexperienced at that, if their average age is anything to go on. Knock down a few NCOs and officers and they'll be running off with their tails between their legs."

"It's too dangerous!"

"It's my _job_!" Eleanor retorted angrily, whirling around to face Hester and barely able to keep her balance as the world reeled wildly around her. Why was he being so difficult about this? She got that he was concerned about her - if their places had been exchanged she probably would have been, too - but a little support from him would have been appreciated; wasn't he meant to be her friend?

"From what I understand you're an analyst, Captain," LaPrade cut in coolly, "Not a saboteur."

_I was blowing up railways when you were still getting yelled at by a drill sergeant, _she wanted to tell him,_ I was flirting with Gestapo officers just to sneak a package past them. Don't ever try to assume what I may or may not be._ Instead, she grit her teeth and smiled tersely. "Sir, you know how important stealth is in urban environments-"

"And neither are you a strategist, if I recall correctly."

She was ready to tear him a new one - _how dare he, the presumptuous bastard_ - but bit her tongue as one of the battalion orderlies cleared his throat. "Colonel, your XO wants a word."

"Very well," LaPrade said, nodding at his fellow officers, "Excuse me, gentlemen." As he walked past Eleanor, he paused and leaned in towards her. "Stay put, Fairfax. You're barely able to stay upright as it is. Report to HQ and get some rest."

"Yes sir," she muttered reluctantly, staying behind as the men filed out of the room and returned to their work. She trailed her finger over the charts that had been left on the table in the middle of the area, narrowing her eyes as she studied the positions and movements arrayed on them. There'd been days when she had been the one calling the shots, setting out the strategies and planning the subterfuge; even in Normandy she'd been able to make her own decisions to an extent, but Holland felt like it had been one large, muddled exercise in futility and abiding by the bad decisions of others.

"Analyst..." she groused, absently rubbing at the dried blood that crusted around her temple._ I have to do something. I have to. I can still call headquarters, convince Sink to let me go out there- I can still fix this thing-_

"All right," a voice halted her thoughts, and she raised her head to see Hester standing next to her; he, in turn, was warily gazing down at the M-1 still clutched in her hand.

"Give me your gun."

She blinked up at her friend, bewildered by the unforeseen request. "Excuse me?"

"Your rifle," he clarified, "Give it to me."

"Wha-" she stammered, fingers tightening around the weapon, "Why?"

"To keep you from doing whatever it is you're planning to do," he said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, and Eleanor inwardly cursed him for being so observant- and for knowing her so well.

"I'm planning to check in with Sink and get some rest," she said, echoing LaPrade's earlier command and trying to keep her voice even. _Remember, you've dissembled your way past Nazi generals. You can sure as hell fool a single Yank captain._ But oh, her head did hurt, and there was a nausea rising from her stomach that only made the dizziness worse- should she really be doing this?

"Right, and I'm the goddamn president of the United States."

Eleanor fell back in surprise at that; if she thought he'd been forceful before, it had been nothing compared to this. While she was used to him worrying and she knew he could be stern, it was usually in such a paternal manner that people tended to fear his disappointment rather than his anger. Right then and there, however, it seemed getting him cross was an equally bad idea.

"Don't be absurd," she said, twisting away from him and heading back into the hallway, but he was quick to follow and not about to let up.

"I'm being absurd?" he challenged, "You just _lied_ to LaPrade!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she maintained, narrowly able to suppress a wince when someone bumped into her wounded arm. _First he questions me in front of LaPrade, now he tries to bully me into giving up my gun... what is with him today?_

"Yes you do," Hester said, lowering his voice again to avoid anyone overhearing, "You have no intention of staying put, and you sure as hell aren't just going to talk to headquarters. You want to talk Sink into letting you go out on the line." He spun around and in front of her, forcing her to a halt. "Honestly, Eleanor, running to daddy when mommy says no- what makes you even think he'll agree to it?"

"Because I'm right, and you bloody well know I am!" she hissed, now completely fed up with it all- the waiting, the lack of communication, the constant feeling of failure. She just wanted it over with.

"I know you had half a building fall on you earlier and that you're probably concussed," Hester rebutted, annoyance softening into more familiar concern, "I also don't like this suicidal streak you suddenly seem to have rediscovered."

"Oh, now you really are being absurd-"

Hester merely shook his head, a gesture Eleanor thought she detected a hint of sadness in. "Just give me your rifle," he said, raising a hand when she opened her mouth to protest, "Don't make me order you, captain."

And that was that; she was trapped, unable to see a way out, unable to do anything but concede and let him win this round. "Fine," she snapped, throwing the gun at him, "Fine!" He caught the rifle without much effort, though the suddenness of the move distracted him long enough for her to spin on her heel and stalk off. Though she could hear him calling after her she paid him no heed, stalking through the building until she was out of his sight and able to start planning again.

Breathing heavily, she found a quiet alcove and leaned against the wall, letting her head fall back against the unforgiving brick. She cringed at the sharp shard of pain that flared up and pressed her eyes shut to steady herself. _Breathe. Think. Find the armory, get a weapon, find the telephone, call Sink, get out of here. _She ran a trembling hand through her hair._ Maybe not necessarily in that order._

The first few steps turned out to be easy enough: it didn't take her long to find an unsuspecting staff sergeant and flirt her way to an answer as to where they were. Men, she decided, were entirely too easily to manipulate and far too willing to fall for the damsel in distress trick. _Guess I've still got it, analyst or no._ She made her way to the door the trooper had indicated, moving with what she hoped would be enough decisiveness to pass by unnoticed; it wasn't far now, and for the first time since waking up she felt like she might actually achieve what she had set out to do.

But then a gunshot went off somewhere outside and everything seemed to slow again. Eleanor startled and spun towards the sound, her heart skipping a beat as mayhem erupted around her. Men took their weapons and began to run towards the door, rushing by her in a blur of movement and shouted orders, but all she could see was a single person in the midst of the masses. He wore civilian clothing, not unlike your average French peasant, much of it stained with the reddish brown of drying blood from where his arm seemed to have been cut clean off- and he was staring at her accusingly.

Another gunshot went off, and then another. Eleanor stumbled back with a gasp. The man was still staring at her, but his outfit had changed into something far more sophisticated, far more suited to the city, and his face was different, too; older, more cherished, striking grey eyes pitying rather than accusing. "No," she gasped, shaking her head desperately. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be real. She reached for her sidearm without thinking but was quaking too badly to reach it, still fumbling for her holster when someone caught her by the elbow and tugged her away.

"Damn it, Eleanor, have you _lost_ your mind?" Clarence Hester chastised under his breath, dragging her from the armory and steering her back towards the supply closet. He'd been looking for her ever since she'd fled from him minutes before but had been unable to find her until now; by the looks of things, he had gotten to her just in time.

Yet Eleanor was barely aware of what was going on, let alone who was holding on to her. All she could feel was panic; all she could see were the faces of men she'd lost long ago. Worse than that, someone had seized her, was keeping her trapped when all she wanted to do was run. She tensed and tried to wrestle herself free from their grip. "Let me go-"

"Stop struggling," Hester said, eyes darting around the hall to see if anyone had noticed what was going on. The very last thing they needed was to create a scene.

"No!" Eleanor cried, instincts kicking in and taking over, overriding the last bit of common sense she might have had left. Her surroundings became increasingly hazy and for the life of her, she couldn't think straight anymore. "Let go of me-"

Realizing the situation was getting out of hand - she was really starting to fight back now, and even disoriented and weakened by her wounds she still packed a mean punch - Hester called for back up. "Private, give me a hand," he ordered the closest enlisted man, wrapping another arm around Eleanor with the vague hope of quieting her down. It did exactly the opposite and he soon found her elbow connecting roughly with his nose.

"Ow! Sonnova-" he cursed, but to his credit never once let go. "Calm down, Ellie, please."

"No," she cried again, voice pitching with anxiety, "No, let me go- I have to-" She felt herself begin to slip, the floor suddenly seeming to disappear from beneath her feet as the ceiling spun overhead. "I've got to-" But she couldn't. Her limbs flailed only weakly now, the last convulsions of a dying struggle, and it was almost a relief to let herself sag back into oblivion. Somewhere along the way, it had just become too much.

"Ellie?" she heard Hester say in a sudden moment of clarity, and she felt a brief stab of guilt when her head lolled against his shoulder and she saw the blood that dripped down his chin._ I hit him_, she realized, horrified. _God, I'm as lost as I ever was_.

"Eleanor?" Hester repeated, shaking her with such care it only broke her heart further. Her eyes fluttered. "No, no, no, stay awake on me-"

Darkness enveloped her again.

"Medic!"

* * *

_A tinkling piano in the next apartment, those stumbling words that told you what my heart meant; a fairground's painted swings - these foolish things remind me of you..._

For an absurd, lingering moment Eleanor felt as though she'd been thrown back in time. She hadn't heard this song in years; not since before - God, had it been that long? - since before the start of the war. Stretched out on a not-quite-hard-and-not-quite-comfortable surface - perhaps a deck chair - it occurred to her that she was utterly, languidly at ease, another thing she hadn't experienced in a long while and which seemed somehow strange to her; it was difficult to remember the last time she'd felt this way, now that she thought of it.

She luxuriated in the warmth of the sun on her skin and the caress of a pleasantly cool breeze, wriggling her toes leisurely. The tranquil sounds of the world around her were familiar and almost comfortingly ordinary: she could just hear the nannies walking their young charges in the park across the street and the soft warble of Billie Holiday's voice coming from the wireless inside. So this is London, she registered absentmindedly, before the Blitz, before the war. She frowned, realizing she was thirsty. How can I be thirsty? How am I even here?

Bare feet resounded against the cold stone of the balcony - she remembered it now, the balcony of her old home and the summer of 1938, the last truly carefree summer she'd known - and she looked up to find her brother standing over her, a fresh jug of Pimms in hand. Philip smiled and bent to pour her a glass as though he'd heard her very thoughts. He looked so young, round cheeks dimpling endearingly and hair still the unruly waves of his adolescence; but he'd cut it before he'd left for the States, hadn't he? He'd tried so hard to grow up then, though it had broken her heart and worried their friends, yet here he was: the young man she remembered, charming and attentive, humming along to the music that continued to float out into the summer air - _these foolish things remind me of you..._

She closed her eyes and opened them again; her brother was gone and the sun along with him, rain pattering against windows that were decidedly un-English and the flood of summer light replaced by the dim glow of a handful of oil lamps. She knew now that the not-quite-hard-and-not-quite-comfortable surface beneath her wasn't a deck chair but rather a hospital bed, and it seemed the only reason her toes had felt chilly was because the blanket that covered the majority of her had somehow slipped off them- but Billie Holiday crooned on, quieter and a little more distorted but nonetheless the same.

Where am I, she thought nervously, trying but failing to recognize any of her surroundings, where are the others? She tried to shift around to get a better look only to realize that moving hurt like hell, weary muscles straining with the effort and her head throbbing unceasingly. Slowly things came back to her; the explosion that had knocked her down, her foolish attempts to start a one-woman sabotage mission and the drive to do something, anything, make things right again, Hester's annoyance and concern and bleeding face- she blanched. Oh hell.

She groaned almost noiselessly, coughing at the dry tickle that stung her throat and closing her eyes again in frustration. To her shock, a voice piped up from her right, the accent well-known and infused with a familiar warmth.

"Hey there."

Managing to turn her head - and grimacing at the exertion it took her - she squinted and was just able to make out the man's features. "Chuck?"

"Yes ma'am," the sergeant smiled, a flash of white teeth in the otherwise dim room, "D'you want some water?" He was already reaching for a pitcher before she could do so much as nod in gratitude, handing her a cool glass - which was odd in itself, wasn't it, the fact that it was actual glass - and sitting back as she sipped from it carefully. He watched her drink in pensive silence, taking the glass from her when she'd had enough and returning it to a bedside table just beyond her reach.

"You're in a field hospital a few miles from the line, ma'am."

Eleanor wiped her mouth and took that latest bit of information in, trying to square it with what little else she knew about what had happened since she'd passed out. Being at an aid station seemed logical enough given the circumstances - even Grant being there made some degree of sense - but there were renewed gaps in her knowledge that she wasn't too pleased with, questions stuck in her mind which needed answering. _I finally get back on top of things and then this happens._

"How long was I out for?"

"Two, three days, maybe," Grant said, leaning forward and linking his fingers together, "It took me a while to realize they'd brought you in." His smile faded. "They were worried about brain damage at first."

_No wonder, if I really was out for three days_. She inhaled sharply and struggled to rise, pushing herself up on her elbows and preparing to swing her legs off the cot; the circumstances were miserably familiar. _Wake up in pain to find a friend fretting about me, realize I have absolutely no idea what's going on, feel the desperate need to do something. When did this become the status quo?_ If anything the helplessness had doubled and was now mixed with a healthy dose of apprehension; though the memories of Opheusden remained a blur, she knew she'd made some serious mistakes and would have a lot to atone for.

"My team-" she gulped, because three days was too long, damn it, even if she'd left Betty in charge for far longer than that in the past. Grant grasped her shoulders consolingly.

"I'm sure they're fine, ma'am," he said, pressing her down gently when she ignored his assurances and continued to try and get up, "Easy now."

"What about the rest of the division-" she wheezed, already out of breath, her tremulous fingers fisting in the sheets. It scared her how quickly she was tiring, how weak even the smallest movement had left her; perhaps she'd been more ill than she'd thought and lying down wasn't such a bad idea after all. Grant - gazing at her with a mixed expression of concern and faint amusement - certainly seemed to think so.

"From what I understand they beat back the Kraut attack," he soothed her, one hand remaining on her shoulder lest she attempt to sit up again. "The Island's still ours, Captain."

"Good," she breathed, the tension beginning to drain from her and relief slowly taking its place, "That's good." But at what cost? Although she settled back against the bed without further complaint she could not help but wonder how many lives had been lost and how many friends she would have to do without, if any of them had been injured or otherwise harmed. She looked at Grant - _really_ looked at him - and took in the remnant of pallor to his skin, the dark circles under his eyes that were only just beginning to fade and the newly formed scar that disappeared into his hairline. She remembered vividly how she had pressed a bandage against his temple during the harrowing retreat from Nuenen; given the extent of his injuries, she was surprised he was back on his feet at all. _Easy Company tradition, I suppose..._

Chances were he wouldn't know any specifics about the well-being of his company, especially not after several weeks away from them, but for the time being all she could see - all she could care about - was how close they could have come to losing him. "How are you doing, Chuck?" she asked quietly, eyes flitting between her hand twisting in the woolen covers and her friend's open, friendly face.

"Couldn't be better, ma'am," he said, his tone so jovial and sincere she could not help but be heartened by it. It seemed the time he'd spent at the aid station had done little to bring his spirits down.

"Yeah?" she smiled, propping up the pillows beneath her so she was at least a little more upright, "How's your head?"

There was a flicker of mischief in his blue eyes. "Better than yours, I'd wager."

"Probably," she conceded, reaching up to touch her face and letting her fingers skim over the assorted cuts and scrapes. She hadn't had a chance to take proper stock of her injuries yet; while Wade had said her ribs weren't broken and her head had bled significantly, she hadn't actually examined any of them for herself beyond a cursory checkup. It felt like only a few of the cuts on her face had been deep enough to require stitches and had needed hardly any at that, but they had barely begun to heal and the bruises smarted when she touched them. She imagined her torso would sport a fine assortment of colors as well - as would her limbs - but with Grant around she couldn't very well strip herself down to verify it. _LaPrade wasn't kidding when he said I looked like hell,_ she thought ruefully, feeling the flecks of dried blood that stuck to he roots of her hair, yet she was also glad that her wounds hadn't been severe enough to warrant further evacuation. Grant, however, was an altogether different case- or at least he ought to have been.

"Why haven't you been moved?"

"I convinced a nurse I didn't need to be," he said easily, obviously pleased at having pulled it off, "She's one of yours, actually- your old team, that is." His smile grew into a broader grin. "Tried to give me tea and everything."

Eleanor laughed, wincing soon after when the motion jostled her ribs. "Sounds like one of my girls, all right."

"Uh-huh," Grant smirked, "She's also promised to help me bust out of here in the next few days."

"She did, did she?" Eleanor murmured, not in the least surprised when he confirmed it. _Speaking of Easy Company traditions, here's another fine one_. She evaluated her own condition for a moment; she was still tired, yes, but she felt like a shower and some fresh air would do her a world of good and more than anything she just wanted to get back to the others to put an end to this whole ordeal. Though she was far from looking forward to it, there was a lot of apologizing to be done and punishments to be faced, and she preferred to get them over with sooner rather than later. Still, she could do with some help in getting back to the line; perhaps hitching along with Grant's grand escape could be her ticket out of here.

"I'm coming with you," she decided, a little disappointed when his smile melted away and his brows knitted together.

"Are you sure that's a good idea, ma'am?" he asked, looking uncharacteristically awkward all of a sudden. The return to a more formal way of address did not escape her notice either; it was clear that he wasn't much of a fan of the idea, possibly worried about retribution from higher up, possibly just concerned for her well being, perhaps both of them at once. She ducked her head, her own smile turning wry.

"Trust me, I'm a medic."

Grant snorted. "Don't medics make the worst patients?" he retorted, silence stretching between them when she didn't answer and he fidgeted with a crease in his fatigues. She was about to play it down with another joke when he spoke up unexpectedly. "You know, I was thinking the other day-" he began, stopping himself mid-sentence and shooting a wary glance her way. He sighed. "Never mind."

"No, no, go on," she urged, intrigued and just a tad wary, "What's on your mind, Chuck?"

"I was thinking about what you said in Eindhoven, about being a nurse before joining the army," he said in a rush, barely taking a breath before continuing, "And I thought, wow, what a change that must have been. I mean, I was at Carentan and Bloody Gulch, I know what you're capable of- that's a hell of a big step from just patching people up."

Alarm bells tolled and already overexerted muscles tensed inadvertently; she did not like where this appeared to be going. What was he getting at, and why did he seem so hesitant about it? More importantly, what - and how much - did he know?

"But then I remembered what General Bradley said at the ceremony before we returned to England."

Eleanor exhaled unsteadily. "Ah." She too remembered that day, the heat of the July sun and the feel of a too large jacket hanging from her shoulders, the mixed sense of pride and awe and alienation as the men were called forward and their heroic feats recounted; above all else she recalled the unease at having her own exploits spelled out and laid bare before the entirety of the regiment, the fear of someone actually picking up on what was being said and putting two and two together. Evidently that fear had not been unfounded.

"He said you were wanted by the Gestapo even before you were dropped into Normandy," Grant recalled, expression troubled, and Eleanor fought hard not to resort to the instinctive panic that came with any aspect of her past being mentioned.

"I was," she said, taken aback by how steady her voice had sounded even as she considered the potential outcomes to the conversation. The truth of it was that she really had no idea. It would be a case of damage control no matter what - both because of security reasons and because the things Grant had uncovered might change his opinion of her forever - but she couldn't yet fathom the final consequences of his discovery. _And just when I thought things couldn't possibly get any worse._

"Must have saved a helluva lot of Allied soldiers to be on their radar," he remarked drily, shaking his head. "You weren't just a nurse, were you?" he said softly, raising his eyes to hers, "The same way you aren't just American."

She noticed, quite out of the blue, that the music had stopped. Outside the rain continued to fall; she watched it drip against the windows, thick droplets splashing against the glass before trickling down towards the ground. _Strange that I should have dreamed about Philip, when my waking hours sometimes feel like a drawn out nightmare I cannot wake up from._ She was suddenly glad of the privacy of having a room to herself, knowing it offered a certain measure of confidentiality she would not have had anywhere else. It was only a tiniest specks of comfort; she'd revealed too much and, in doing so, put more lives at risk than she cared to count- including that of the man sitting next to her.

There were days when he would have been killed over this, she mused, sensing rather than seeing him move in his seat. He still might be. If he were ever captured and it was discovered he knew an English-American woman with a somewhat dubious past, who knew what might happen to him? He didn't have so much as an officer's status going for him; they would interrogate him ruthlessly - maybe even violently - until he'd give them what they wanted. At the same time there was little use in denying it; not now, not anymore, not when it might only make him more distrustful of her. Better he hear some version of the truth from her than leaving him to speculate and cobble together a likely scenario. _God, how could I have been so careless._

"No," she whispered, keeping her eyes on the overcast world outside. For a long while Grant remained silent, seeming to process the fact that she had actually confirmed his suspicions.

"How long?" he asked eventually, and she frowned at the somewhat odd question, turning back towards him.

"How long have I been lying-"

"No," Grant broke her off, "How long were you- you know-"

Oh. Right. "More or less since the start of the war," she said soberly, "I really was in London for most of the Blitz. I was in the field for maybe two, three years after that."

"Spying?" Grant said, sotto voce, and she almost smiled at how absurd it sounded. Long ago, during her first interview with the SOE, they had asked her if she wanted to serve because it seemed glamorous to her, something that had seemed preposterous to her even then; but now, seeing Grant's wide-eyed curiosity, she suddenly understood why they had asked it.

"Something like that."

"Jesus," the sergeant breathed, downright astonished, "How are you not-"

"Deranged?" she suggested wearily, "Insane? Sometimes it feels like I am."

"I was gonna go for 'dead', actually," Grant remarked, once again surprising her. She huffed out something that might have been a laugh.

"Honestly? I'm not sure."

And really, she wasn't; there had been any number of times where she could have easily died, and there were so many things that could have - and perhaps _should_ have - gone wrong but hadn't in the end. She'd been living on borrowed time for years now, though she tried not to think about it too often. _If I did I could probably give good old Sparky Speirs a run for his money._

"Who else knows about this?"

"Only a few of the officers," she sighed, thinking of Dick's shock upon being told and Lew's simple assumption that she couldn't have just jumped into the OSS work, "General Taylor has a pretty good idea, of course, as does Colonel Sink." She bit down on the inside of her cheek. "Do you think any of the other men do?"

"A few might suspect something, but I don't think many of 'em have given it much thought."

Eleanor nodded mutely, relieved. It crossed her mind that it wasn't so much the risk to herself that truly bothered her; no, it was their safety she worried about, and even more so their opinion of her. "The thing is," she began wearily, "Bradley was right. I am wanted. Barring laying low in England this is the safest I've been in years, and the fewer who know about it the better."

Grand chuckled incredulously. "This is safe?"

_I'm surrounded by Allies more often than not, my covert missions are next to none- so yes, this is safe_. "Everything's relative."

"Yes, I can tell," he drawled, sarcasm practically dripping from his words; but then his expression softened and his voice gentled. "God, Ellie, if we'd known-"

"Would you really have treated me differently?" she asked, smiling sadly when the answer was unforthcoming. "It's all right. I wouldn't have blamed you." Her chest constricted and sent a lump into her throat, eyes welling with unwanted tears. Clay Hester's blood-stained face hovered before them as she pressed them close. _Maybe they should treat me differently. Maybe they should just steer clear of me. The slightest bit of stress and I revert to being the dangerous, mad thing the Baker Street boys made me into._

"If you knew the things I've seen- the things I've _done_-"

In an instant Grant had stiffened and was shifting around uncomfortably. "Oh, geez, please don't cry," he pleaded, "It's okay, really, it is- please don't-" It would have amused her had the circumstances been any different, but as it was all she could do was plead with him in turn.

"Please don't tell anyone," she choked, knowing she was already in enough trouble over what had happened in Opheusden, "Please, Chuck, I couldn't bear it."

"No, no, of course not," he pledged, and though his unease at her tears might have hastened his answer she could see understanding and kindness in his eyes as he said it. "I won't, I promise. It's okay, I-" He took a bracing breath. "I never thanked you for saving my life."

"I was just doing my job," Eleanor muttered, dashing at her eyes and forcing herself into some semblance of composure again. _More so than I did three days ago, if I'm honest._ Besides her, Grant smiled slightly.

"Wasn't that what you were doing before, too?" he said, reaching over and hesitantly taking her hand. "Look, Elle, we're in a war here. We've all done things we regret and there'll always be something we wish could have done differently, but we make the best decisions we can and just have to live with them." He squeezed her fingers. "What's done is done, right? No point in trying to pretend otherwise. All we can do is try and make the most out of today."

It wasn't what she had thought he would say - in all truth, she wasn't really sure what she'd expected from him - but it comforted her and hit a nerve all at once, and it rung true at any rate. It was funny, really, the way she was stuck in some form of limbo between abhorring her own past and using it as some warped sort of security blanket. On the one hand she was genuinely horrified by things she'd lived through, the things that haunted her dreams, and as time went by she questioned some of the decisions she'd made more and more. Yet at the same time, letting go of long honed instincts was hard; she'd been doing well enough in Normandy, when everything had been going relatively smoothly and she'd been mostly contented with her role, but the chaos and frustration of Market Garden had slowly turned her right back around to her old state of mind. All she'd been doing the past year was try and move on, to establish a new identity for herself, but it seemed she hadn't been as successful as she'd thought. _I can't keep doing this. I've got to keep moving forward._

Because in the end, Grant was right: she couldn't change the past, no matter how hard she might try and attempt to make amends for it, and she had just been doing her job. Though she still wasn't quite sure whether that justified any of it and even if she would likely never quite be able to shake her doubts and fears and old intuitions, it was time to face the consequences and let go.

_Calculated risks_, she remembered absentmindedly. "Charles Grant, when did you get to be so wise?" she said quietly, slowly returning his grip on her hand.

"'s Mostly just something my mom used to say," he admitted, and this time she shared his smile gladly and without reservation. Last spring she'd slammed Archie Chadwick - a colleague, no less - into a wall for so much as alluding to her former occupation; God knows how she'd reacted to Grant finding out then, but right then and there it was an odd relief for him to know- and for him to understand.

"You should rest, Captain," Grant said, letting go of her hand with a devious wink, "We've got an escape to plan, after all."

"So we do," she agreed, trying not to sound too happy about it, "Off you go, then." She watched him rise and straighten out his uniform before heading for the door, calling out to him just as he reached for the handle. "Hey, Chuck?"

He turned back towards her. "Yeah, ma'am?"

"Thank you."

He smiled brightly and saluted her. "Don't mention it."

* * *

They escaped from the aid station the next day.

Grant had returned early that morning, handing Eleanor her breakfast - toast and scrambled eggs, the sight of which had made her smile somewhat wistfully - before bending in close to discuss their plans. Eleanor had put some thought into what she might be able to contribute to their getaway but had come up with infuriatingly little; unless she could get a chance to talk to any of the aid station's personnel, she had neither men to fall back on nor materials to use. Contacts were everything and she had none to speak to at the moment.

As always, being on top of things was key.

When she had confessed as much to Grant he had reassured her he'd take care of it, grinning impishly and bounding off to see to the final details. It wasn't without some amusement that she complied and gobbled down her food, eager to get back to Randwijk and pleased to be moving again, no matter how slow.

The nurse who came to help her not long after was, as Chuck had mentioned, an old acquaintance. Gwen had been one of the forty nurses who Eleanor hadn't picked for her primary team and, like most of her colleagues, was now stationed with the 326th medical unit. Since she was based at the clearance stations further down the line her old CO had seen little of her since leaving for Normandy; it was strangely refreshing to run into her again, this girl who knew who she was but didn't know anything about her past, her covert work or her recent troubles. They chatted affably as Gwen helped her brush out her hair and got her ready to shower, handing her a towel and a clean uniform alongside the personal belongings they had retrieved from her old jacket. Eleanor rifled through them reverently, making sure everything was still there - Christenson's drawings, the silk scarf (plus one new blood stain that hadn't been there before) and silver cross, her gun and holster - and stowed safely in her pockets before she headed down the hall to clean herself up.

She emerged from the shower barely half an hour later. Washing and redressing had been a sow process, hindered by aching muscles and a set of stitches that needed tending to, but once she was done she felt at least marginally more ready to face the world. She stepped back out into the hallway - hair still dripping from its braid down her neck - when, seemingly out of nowhere, someone caught her around the waist and effectively knocked the breath out of her.

Her first reaction was to yelp, then groan when she realized it was Grant who was pulling her towards the exit with a conspiratorial smile. Sure, he'd told her to be ready to leave at a moment's notice if necessary, but this was awfully fast even so. A jeep was waiting for them outside, manned by one of the male medics who apparently owed the nurses a favor and had his passengers onboard and on their way towards second battalion's area within seconds. There'd been little time to react, let alone protest, but Eleanor had to admit to being impressed by how smoothly the whole thing had been pulled off. _With skills like this, Chuck wouldn't make a half bad operative..._

The drive was largely silent, the wind and the sound of the engine too loud to allow for much conversation. It gave Eleanor some time to collect her thoughts and prepare for the inevitable confrontation with Colonel Sink; her time at the aid station, however little she remembered of it, had certainly been a grace period of sorts. Looking back upon what had happened that day in Opheusden she was amazed at her own rashness, her own stupidity, the way she had let things spiral out of control with such terrifying speed.

She should have known the repeated stress and breaks between action - too much time to think and overanalyze and get lost in the depths of her own mind - would spell out trouble. The flashbacks, the tremors, the hypervigilance- she'd been through it before. It was like Vichy all over again; it was really no wonder that she'd been plagued by memories of that particular mission. If nothing else, the incident with Maria should have been a pretty good indicator; she should have just stayed put and waited for orders, should have found a way to deal with while she still could.

Should, but hadn't. She'd been so hellbent on being useful, on setting things to right - whatever that meant - and proving her worth that she'd lost sight not only of the bigger picture but also of reason altogether- and that, precisely that, scared her most of all.

Of course a lot of what she'd done boiled down to stress and frustration and the heat of the moment, but she knew that no matter how convinced she had been that she was doing the right thing, that it was merely what she had been trained to do, it really hadn't been. She hadn't been taught to just take off on her own. She hadn't been drilled for hours upon end to disregard protocol and endanger the wellbeing of her fellow soldiers. She certainly hadn't been sworn to reckless, hazardous and insolent behavior. The last time such a thing had happened was during her post-Vichy visit to Normandy back in early '43, and that had resulted in a forced leave and reassignment to an altogether different unit.

She really, really did not want to go through that again.

(Who would take her, after all? She'd ticked off the British by turning down their proposed assignment, Donovan and the rest of the OSS were probably pissed at her as it was and didn't want to risk further exposure- where then did that leave her? Somewhere in England, doing her bit for the home front? Or, God forbid, returning to civilian life while Easy Company and the rest of the 506th continued to fight the war overseas? It was unfathomable, horrifying, and yes, maybe jumping to rather extreme conclusions already, but she believed she could be forgiven for it when it felt like the whole world was crumbling around her.)

Tucking a damp lock of hair behind her ear and shivering at the chill of the cold autumn day, she smiled feebly at Grant when he tapped her on the shoulder and asked if she was okay. Was she? She couldn't be certain anymore. She'd worked so hard to try and reconcile herself with the idea of this new life, of no longer being whatever it was she used to be, but with all the trouble that had come with Market-Garden it had turned out to be even harder than she'd originally thought. Maybe, just maybe, her conversation with Sink would be able to clear things up a bit; at least she might have a better idea of where to move on from here, of what would come next. She was so tired of feeling lost all the time.

Not that she didn't fear what might lie in stock for her. Punishment, no matter how deserved, was nevertheless something she didn't much like the thought of.

The medic dropped her off at the battalion headquarters near Zetten, giving her a moment to say goodbye to Grant before setting off again towards Easy's position farther to the north. Steadying herself carefully - her balance remained a little off-kilter - she headed inside the building. _Here goes nothing._ A sea of familiar faces greeted her. It wasn't like she knew every name of every last man in the direct vicinity, but she knew most and recognized the others. It was a comfort to be back among friends - she'd only really known a handful of people around Opheusden and most of them had gotten on her nerves at that - yet at the same time the shame of her own mistakes weighed heavily on her shoulders, the sensation that she was being watched and whispered about a decidedly disagreeable one.

"Captain?"

It took her a moment to notice the private standing just off to the side, regarding her curiously._ Brown? Browning? Something like that._ "Trooper," she greeted him, inclining her head solemnly and returning his salute when he snapped to. He was a good kid, this one; she remembered he'd volunteered to help at the aid station when things got particularly heated in Normandy._ Kid. He's positively ancient compared to the children they've got in the Volksgrenadier these days..._

"I thought you were at the aid station, ma'am," he said, relaxing his stance when she told him to stand easy. The comment had her wondering just how quickly gossip had spread and how much the average GI knew about her escapades in Opheusden; perhaps she'd been right about those whispers.

"I was," she said simply, a note of finality to it that made it very clear this would be the last she'd say on the matter. Scanning the area, she tried to spot any of the officers but came up with nothing. "Is Colonel Strayer in?"

"Yes ma'am," Brown said, "So's Colonel Sink. Seems you're in luck."

Eleanor smiled thinly and asked him to take her to them. _Depends on your definition of luck, I suppose._ She followed him through the hallways to Strayer's office, trying not to be too paranoid about the amount of people staring at her. It had been a while since she'd been around second battalion; surely they were just surprised to see her there and nothing more. As Brown knocked on the door and poked his head inside to ask if the two men were available, Eleanor settled down on a chair outside. _Five minutes,_ she was told, and nodded wordlessly. She waited for five minutes and fidgeted with the straps on her helmet; she waited another five and thumbed through the drawings she'd moved to her pocket earlier. Soldiers came and went, some making small talk before continuing on their way, others merely moving past with a smile or salute.

When nearly a quarter of an hour had passed, she started to get restless; she'd gathered the courage to face what she needed to only to be forced to sit down and stay put again. _I get it. I should know my place and wait when required._ She sighed and leaned her head back against the wall. _Enough of the power play already._ Then, at long last, the door clicked open- but the person who appeared in the doorway was not who she'd been expecting.

"Dick," she breathed, ogling him unabashedly, "What are you-"

"I got promoted," he said, one corner of his mouth quirking up a little, but it was a fleeting thing and there was something hooded about his eyes that she did not much care for. _Christ, what happened at those crossroads?_ "Colonel Sink's going to be a while," he went on, "Do you want to..."

"Yes," she said without hesitation, not wholly sure what it is he was going to suggest but keen to take him up on it regardless. Anything was better than waiting by herself.

He nodded and indicated she should follow him, leading her back down the hallway until they reached the very end and he opened a seemingly random door. Holding it open, he waited for her to pass through before joining her, allowing her time to look around and inspect the place he'd brought her to. The first thing she noticed was that it was empty, and that the small windows looked out over an empty courtyard. He'd provided them with privacy. _Thank God_.

Eleanor whirled around the moment she heard the door fall closed behind them, reaching out to grab hold of Dick's lapels and pulling him towards her. Any semblance of calm she might have previously had shattered and made her suddenly desperate to be close to him, to hold him and never let go again. She crushed her lips to his, heart hammering in her chest as she kissed him and clung to him like a woman drowning, and she felt herself shudder when his hands brushed her neck, caressed her cheeks, wound into her hair; he was reassuringly warm and solid where she pressed up against him, the smell of gun grease and shaving cream soothingly familiar to her frazzled nerves, and for several long moments her entire world existed solely of him.

When they finally broke apart again it was only by a little. Gently tilting her head to examine the healing wound on her forehead, he let his fingers brush past the smaller nicks along her temple almost devoutly. "Okay, okay," he breathed, as though trying to convince himself that she was truly all right. It struck her that he might not have known how badly off she'd been until now; he hadn't been there when she'd been wounded and communications between the aid stations and the men on the front usually only went as far as picking up and passing on the injured. If all he'd been aware of was her being taken in with a head injury, she might as well have been on a medical transport back to England for all he knew. He closed his eyes, seemingly satisfied, and bent down to press a kiss just besides the gauze-covered stitches on her brow. "You're okay."

"Yeah," she whispered shakily, nuzzling her nose against his neck, "I hit Clay Hester."

"I know."

"Chuck Grant's figured out I was an agent before joining the 101st," she added forlornly, swallowing back the growing lump in her throat, "I've been such a fool, Dick. Such a bloody fool."

"What happened?" he asked simply, tucking an errant lock of hair behind her ear much as she herself had done on the drive from the aid station. She looked up to gauge his reaction; his voice had been purposefully neutral, and all she could find in his face were concern, compassion, and a lingering sense of affection.

"They almost bombed my aid station," she said, watching him wince minutely, "It didn't take long before we realized it wasn't just us, either- that the whole of the Island was under attack. I tried to get through to the other command posts but couldn't for the most part, and Alley said you'd been ambushed- I _had_ to do something."

"So you went to find battalion headquarters?"

"With a few of the girls, yes. We ran into Hester along the way- he'd gotten himself stuck at an intersection."

"He told me," Winters said, his hand still rubbing soothing circles against her back, "He also mentioned something about you bringing down a house."

"Not on purpose," she protested feebly, "And I think you'll find it was a German grenade launcher that did all the dirty work." She hesitated for a beat. "What else did Hester tell you?"

Dick sighed. "Everything," he admitted, "But I wanted to hear it from you."

"There's not much to say," she said, idly running the pad of her thumb along the zipper of his jacket, "I screwed up. I did everything wrong I possibly could have- I missed the damn counterattack until it literally hit me in the face-"

"We all did," Winters reasoned, bringing his hand down from her head to capture her own where it rested against his chest, "And you didn't do everything wrong. You passed on important intel, you got your aid station through an air raid, and you got Maria to that telephone. That's hardly nothing."

_I also pulled a gun on Maria, _Eleanor thought somberly,_ and abandoned that same aid station to pass on the intel, only to realize it was no longer a priority by the time I'd managed to get myself up and moving again._ Seeing that she was becoming preoccupied by her own thoughts, Winters tipped her chin up and made her meet his eyes.

"How did Grant work out you weren't just a nurse before?" he wondered, brows furrowing together in consternation. She grimaced.

"He remembered General Bradley's speech from Normandy, and I told a few of the men that I'm part-British not too long ago."

"And he made the connection between the two."

"Apparently," she said, pressing her lips together and looking out of the grubby window nearby. Clouds were gathering once more, looming over them in dark and dismal shapes; it would probably rain again soon. "I know it was stupid, telling the men-"

"I don't think it was," Dick said mildly, following her gaze for a moment and letting his hand slip down to her neck, "It means you trust them, Ellie. Simple as that. All you're really doing is finally letting go."

Eleanor bit her lip. She did trust them, and more than anything she wanted to be trusted by them in return- not just trusted but liked, too, even loved. Telling them something that she had kept so closely guarded until then had perhaps been a token, a way of reaching out and saying _here, take this, I'm sharing it with you because I have faith in you as a friend_. It was bizarrely infantile in a lot of ways, but it also made a horrible amount of sense; like a wounded man who needed to learn how to walk again, she was learning how to trust with clumsy baby steps._ Let love be my downfall indeed._ Nonetheless, if this was letting go of one's past, it was a pretty awful attempt at it.

"Not nearly enough," she muttered, pulling a face. It seemed Hester had failed to mention her blackout at the CP, or perhaps hadn't noticed it to begin with. She considered telling Dick about it, but then thought better of it; how on earth was she supposed to explain to him that she'd seen the ghosts of old comrades?

Winters smiled and pecked her on the cheek, saving her the trouble. "We'll get you there yet," he remarked fondly, shifting his hold on her when she smiled faintly in turn and burrowed further into his embrace. "Where did you run into Grant?"

"The aid station. He's headed back to Easy," she said, frowning up at him, "I thought you knew." Gwen had mentioned something about contacting second battalion to let them know which casualties would be returning to their units; with their numbers so depleted, every man made a difference in terms of company rosters. To Eleanor's concern, the shadow that had only hooded Dick's eyes before now seemed to settle over him entirely.

"I, uh," he began, clearing his throat, "I'm no longer in charge of the company."

Her first instinct was shock - how couldn't he be, why on earth would they take Easy away from him, were the men are all right? - but then she remembered something he'd mentioned earlier and things began to make slightly more sense. "Your promotion."

He nodded solemnly. "Colonel Sink requested I move up to battalion."

"Major Horton's old spot?"

The fact that she'd deduced his new position so quickly took him aback a little. "How do you-"

"You'd be amazed what you pick up around a regimental hallway," she shrugged, recalling the whispered conversation between two battalion aides about their late XO. Even if she hadn't overheard it, executive officer would still make the most sense: Dick's talents would be wasted on supplies and intelligence would likely bore him to tears. He was a born leader, the kind who would lead his men in battle and never think twice about it. "Well, that's- wow," she said, genuinely impressed if not entirely surprised, "Congratulations."

"Thank you," he said, noticing the unspoken question in her eyes and answering it without further prompting, "Moose Heyliger's taken over."

"I'm glad," Eleanor smiled, relieved to know that Easy would be in capable hands; while Dick deserved this promotion and she was secretly delighted that he'd be around battalion - and thus around herself - more, she wanted nothing but the best for the men and knew how attached they were to their captain. "He's a good man."

Yet Dick still seemed preoccupied, staring down at a spot of floor just off to the side, his jaw clenching and unclenching steadily. Eleanor frowned, touching the tips of her fingers to his cheek and redirecting his gaze to hers much as he had done not long before. "Darling, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said, smiling fleetingly in an attempt at reassurance, "It's just been a long few days."

_Understatement_, Eleanor thought, worried about what he might not be telling her. "What did happen at the crossroads? Are the men all right?"

His eyes lit up a little at the mention of his men. "They're all right, I think," he murmured, leaning into her touch unthinkingly, "A company of SS crossed the river just before dawn. Alley and the others ran into the advance party."

"Did the Krauts make it across the dike?"

"No, we managed to stop them before then," he sighed, resting his forehead against hers carefully. _A long few days indeed,_ Eleanor thought, amazed; it must have been a hell of a fight, considering the amount of men they'd gone up against and how unfortunate their position had been.

"Coming from Randwijk?" she asked, whistling low when he nodded wordlessly. "How many casualties?"

"Fifty dead, maybe twice that in wounded and prisoners."

That had to be the Germans, or he would have mentioned something before. "And on our side?"

"Twenty-two wounded," he said, pausing briefly, "One killed."

Eleanor's breath caught in her throat. She had expected something like this might have happened, had feared that the odds might have been such that they couldn't have possibly come away unscathed, but it still hurt to have it corroborated. "Who?"

"Dukeman."

"I'm so sorry," Eleanor whispered sorrowfully, mourning the loss of a man she'd liked and the innocence he had lost long ago. He'd never given up on Meehan and the rest of the troopers on his plane, not for a moment, not until their deaths had been confirmed and he'd had to face the dreadful truth. She'd admired him for it as much as she had empathized with his perhaps naive belief in their survival.

"So am I," Winters said, running a finger along her face and adding softly, "You could have died."

"So could you," she retorted, nestling her head into the crook of his neck. It wasn't something either of them liked to dwell on, but at the end of the day, life was so very fragile around here; so easily snatched away and snuffed out. For all of the trauma and all of the shell shock, death this close at hand had a way of putting things into perspective. At least she was still alive. At least _Dick_ was still alive, as were most of their closest friends. It could have been a lot worse.

Nonetheless, there were things that remained to be done. "I should go," Eleanor said, pulling back from Winters' embrace reluctantly, "Colonel Sink probably has a thing or two to say to me." He hummed in understanding, though there was a hesitation to his posture that he couldn't quite hide.

"Probably," he agreed, clasping her close for another moment and kissing her one last time. When she stepped back to put herself in order, he drew something from his pocket and held it out to her. "Before I forget, Hester asked me to give this to you."

She took the folded square of paper from him, puzzled as to what it might be. Why would he be writing her notes at such a time? Looking to Dick for an answer, all she received was an equally nonplussed shrug.

"He said you'd understand."

_Huh_. Keeping the note folded up for the time being, she stuffed it in the compartment over her breast and took a steadying breath. Noticing her disquiet, Winters ducked his head to try and regain her attention. "Hey," he said, "Do you want me to come with you?"

"Nah," Eleanor said, shaking her head and forcing a smile, "I'll be fine." It wasn't so much that she didn't want him to come along - at least until she'd go into Sink's office - but she knew that this was something she had to do herself. Her parents had always instilled a strong sense of responsibility into her, and she wasn't about to abandon it now.

"All right," Winters accepted, holding the door open for her, "I'll see you after?"

Eleanor sincerely hoped she would.

* * *

The room Robert Sink had chosen for his workplace was dark and vaguely musty, made no better by the lack of natural light and the good colonel's bad mood practically rebounding off its walls. He barely glanced up when Eleanor shuffled in and stood at attention in front of his desk, waiting for him to acknowledge her and his unavoidable tirade to begin.

"Captain Fairfax," he said at length, still bent over his papers and scribbling away on them with what she guessed was a scrounged fountain pen.

"Sir," she said, saluting as best she could without pressing the tips of her fingers against her injured temple. He didn't return the gesture. Silence abounded. Swallowing anxiously, Eleanor decided she might as well give speaking a try. "Sir, I-"

"Do you have any idea how perilously close you came to going off the deep end, captain?" he interrupted her sharply, finally raising his eyes and focusing them on her severely. In all her time with the 506th, Eleanor had never felt more like disappearing into the ground.

"Yes sir," she said faintly, fighting the urge to drop her gaze and shuffle her feet, instead resolutely staring ahead. Sink leaned back in his chair.

"I'm not sure you do," he asserted, "What in the seven hells were you thinking, trying to go off on your own like that? Did it never occur to you that fire from an unknown origin would have confused the living daylight out of your own troops?"

"I would hope the men are able to distinguish the sound of an M-1 from that of a German rifle, sir," Eleanor rebutted, the sentence slipping out before she could stop herself. _Stupid, stupid! _She'd intended to just stand there and take whatever Sink would decide to throw at her, to say yes and amen and not talk back under any circumstances, but it seemed that this had been a bit of a pipe dream.

"For Christ's sake, that's not the point!" Sink exploded, slamming his fist down onto the table, "You ignored protocol and disobeyed a direct order from a superior officer, _twice_. People have faced firing squads for less!"

_Odd. He didn't mention the fact that I punched Clay Hester in the nose_. Perhaps there was more Hester hadn't brought up besides her episode at the CP. Either way, she could not help but bristle at the implication that she'd been insubordinate; she'd been out of line, certainly, but she knew her place. "Due respect, Colonel, but neither Lieutenant Colonel LaPrade or Captain Hester are technically my-"

"Do _not_ finish that sentence, captain," Sink warned her, rising from his seat and beginning to pace the length of the room. "They are your superior officers and they gave you an order. You should know better than to disobey them." Pausing momentarily he turned back towards her, some of the previous anger substituted with disappointment. "Dammit, I expected better from you."

This time Eleanor could no longer keep herself from dropping her head in shame. "Yes sir," she concurred softly, waiting for Sink's footsteps to pick up again and his booming voice to chew her out some more. To her surprise, neither happened.

"When will you get it into your head that you're not an agent anymore, Eleanor?" he asked, rubbing a weary hand along the side of his face. "You're not behind enemy lines, you're not on your own. There are more lives and risks to consider here."

"I know, sir."

"Then goddamn act like it, girl," Sink snapped, "Don't make me regret keeping you on."

Eleanor bit her lip, unconsciously scraping off a bit of dead skin with her teeth. "If I may, sir," she said, waiting until he had waved his hand by ways of a gesture for her to go along and speak, "Why did you?"

The colonel heaved a sigh. "Because like it or not, you're one of us now, and we look after our own." Shaking his head, he folded his arms across his chest and tilted his head as he contemplated her. "Whatever it is you need to do to sort yourself out- do it," he said, still stern though his voice had taken on a softer tone, "I won't tolerate another incident like this."

"Yes sir."

"Don't let me down, kid," Sink concluded, seemingly satisfied when she raised her head again and nodded slightly.

"No, sir."

When she saluted him again, he returned it - to her relief - without hesitation. She left the room without further ado, doing her level best not to rush out and run for safety. _Breathe. I need to breathe._ Yes, the meeting had gone unexpectedly well, and yes, she ought to be happy about it, but her chest felt tight and her hands were shaking again and she really couldn't fathom facing anyone right now. She needed solitude, quiet, a moment to calm herself and figure out what to do next.

_The courtyard_. Scanning her environment, she tried to make out where the enclosed square she'd seen earlier would be from here and how she could get to it the fastest. _There. A door at the end of the hall - that ought to do it._ She had reached it within seconds, throwing it open and stepping out into the rain, tilting her head towards the sky and letting the drops fall down her face, heaving a sigh of relief.

Slowly she caught her breath, feeling the water begin to soak through the shoulders of her uniform. Glancing down, she realized her shoulders weren't the only part of her that were getting wet; the pocket that she'd put Hester's note in was also rapidly growing damp. "Shoot," she mumbled, her boots splashing in the growing puddles as she jogged over to the side of the building to take shelter under the edge of its roof.

She dug up the piece of paper and unfolded it swiftly, frowning when the message on it was revealed. In all truth, it wasn't a message at all; it was a puzzle. This in itself wasn't too strange - exchanging riddles and brainteasers had become something of a tradition between them, something they had started before the Normandy landings and had continued during the long months of summer - but the timing seemed odd. Why had he sent her one now, when they hadn't exchanged any since since they'd set off for Holland and she'd just hit him in the face to boot? What was he trying to tell her, and why hadn't he told the others about what had truly happened in Opheusden?

Rummaging through her uniform until she'd found something to write with, she frowned down at the paper and began to unravl the cypher. She was nearly done with it when she realized what it said and clasped a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle the sob that was suddenly trying to fight its way out of her throat, before forcing herself to finish it. By the time it was done, there was a single sentence scrawled in her own hand beneath the original message:

Y.O.U.A.R.E.G.O.I.N.G.T.O.B.E.F.I.N.E.

She let herself fall back against the wall of the CP and slide down it until she was sitting down, unsure whether to smile or cry, the rain still falling around her. Maybe she wasn't as lost as she had thought after all - not, at least, while she had friends like these.

* * *

**Next up: how do you solve a problem like David Dobie?**


	33. I Guess I'll Have To Change My Plan

**Disclaimer: this story is based chiefly on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in any way intended to portray them or their experiences.**

* * *

The week or so after Eleanor's return from the hospital was quiet—too quiet, really, had it not been for the insistence of those closest to her that she be watched, accompanied and looked after every second of every minute of every day. She had tolerated it at first, well aware that she'd screwed up in Opheusden and needed to keep her head down for a while; if allowing her friends to shadow her for a while would be what it took to convince them that she was doing all right and could be trusted again, then so be it. Plus, she truly did appreciate their concern. It was comforting to know that they cared, that they would be there to catch her if she threatened to fall again, and having them around provided her with a welcome distraction while her equilibrium remained on shaky ground.

Gradually, however, the sense of protection turned into one of _over_-protection and began to feel like it was smothering her. Having someone check in on her was all very well so long as they didn't do it quite this constantly; she seemed unable to find a moment of privacy or peace anymore, unless it was an enforced one. When it became clear that the bubble that had been so carefully created around her was also responsible for the deafening silence she'd perceived, she decided enough was enough.

It was true that the regiment had settled back into their old ways and routines with surprising speed once the smoke and rubble of the failed German counterattack had cleared. In many ways it was as though the assault on the Island had never happened: the battalions remained in much the same position as they had been before - their defenses upgraded but otherwise largely unaltered - and there was still no clear exit strategy for the American troops, or indeed any strategy other than holding their ground and mopping up the proverbial spills where necessary.

There was a renewed sense of tension, though, something Eleanor realized the moment she'd not-so-subtly told her team to back off and let her breathe, dammit. Between their grudging smiles and a list of conditions (they'd continue to keep an eye on her, and they insisted that she got plenty of sleep, and would she please just talk to them when things got bad again), Eleanor noticed they were worried—not just about her, but about the whole of the regiment. Several previously unseen reports and a conversation with the underground later, she could not help but agree with them.

Besides the glaring likelihood of another breakthrough - the Germans had slipped past and caught them unawares before, they might do it again - there was more unrest across the river than she would have liked. Though there were a greater number of Allied soldiers in hiding than the enemy seemed to realize and reports of activity were largely scattered, there appeared to be a mounting effort to weed out both members of the underground and soldiers stuck behind hostile lines. At first glance they might appear like isolated incidents, but Eleanor had been in this game too long no to recognize a pattern when she came across one. The Krauts were nervous, which made her nervous in turn; it was obvious they were preparing to take back the country, and she had a feeling they wouldn't be as inefficient or civil about it this time around.

Then, not long after Eleanor had finally regained her footing and was starting to feel like she was on top of things again, a rumor was passed down the wires that the Brits were considering further withdrawals from north of the Rhine. It was something that had been coming for some time but still managed to take Eleanor by surprise; all any of the Allies had sent across the river until then had been messages of encouragement and suggestions for sabotage. There'd been a large evacuation when Market-Garden had come tumbling down but nothing of the sort since. For all Eleanor knew the soldiers stuck to the north of the 101st were hiding out in basements or passing themselves off as farmers while they tried to assist the resistance; not, in fact, wholly unlike what she'd been doing in years past. Having a veritable army of troopers working undercover had had its uses, but it seemed that time had run out for them.

The downside to all of this was that any efforts to get them back among friendly forces would have to be covert. Moreover, given that the 506th was stationed along the river the regiment was likely to be involved in them, and if not them then some other part of the 101st. As soon as Eleanor had informed General Taylor of the British decision to withdraw he had asked her to run point on all related activity, knowing she understood the Brits better than most and had contacts with the underground at that; if they were to pull this off they would need all parties on board and, preferably, someone they trusted liaising between them.

Days passed as Eleanor and her team tried to gain a better insight into the situation. It was a vast puzzle to be taking on, useful pieces of information trickling in only slowly, but for the first time in a long while Eleanor felt like she was actually doing some good again—like she was doing what she'd been meant to be doing all along. She was typing up a report for General Taylor one evening when a soft rapping on the door caught her attention and made her pause, fingers hovering over the keys of the typewriter. Although her team had stepped back somewhat and weren't as hell-bent on fretting over her anymore, Lew Nixon and Clarence Hester still insisted on frequently dropping by both the regimental aid station - blessed with nine new staff now that the nurses were working there - and the nook of a room she used for the intelligence work. If her estimation of their self-appointed schedule was anything to go on, Nixon was probably due another visit before he returned to second battalion for the night.

"Was that—" she wondered aloud, looking at Anne across the desk from her before shifting her gaze towards the door. Another knock came, louder this time. Eleanor groaned and leaned her elbows on the desk, dropping her head down into her hands wearily. _Not again. Sometimes I hate being right._ Glimpsing between her fingers, she could see Anne suppressing a smile and Sara and Evelyn stifling giggles behind her. It suddenly felt like everyone but her was in on some kind of grand joke, leaving her stuck in the middle to puzzle over what on earth was so funny.

She shoved her chair back and swung her legs around, getting up with the full intention of giving Lew an earful about being a meddlesome and overly protective ass. Striding towards the door, she shot Anne a look as she passed her - more of a glare, really, one that had Anne returning to work in an instant - and reached for the handle, twisting it down and stepping back to open it.

"Nixon, I swear to God—" she began, falling abruptly silent when the person on the other side turned out to be someone other than she'd been expecting. "Oh!"

"Hello," Dick Winters said, smiling lopsidedly when Eleanor's eyes widened in surprise.

"Hi!" she blurted, running a hand through unruly hair and shaking her head bemusedly, "What brings you here?"

Winters' smile faded. "Is this a bad time?" he asked, glancing around as though to determine if there was anyone else around who might take precedence over him.

"No, no, not at all," Eleanor was quick to assure him, stepping out into the hallway and pulling the door up behind her until she could feel it pressing against her shoulder blades. "I just wasn't expecting you to be at headquarters."

"Sink's orders," Winters explained, shrugging when she raised an inquisitive eyebrow, "Something about supply drops. The meeting's not for another forty-five minutes, so we were wondering if you wanted to get dinner."

"We being?"

"Hester, Nixon, myself," he listed, lips quirking up again when he noticed she seemed tempted by the idea, "If we head over now we might beat the lines."

"All right," Eleanor said, mirroring his smile; it was an offer that was hard to refuse to begin with, but she had half a mind of using it as an opportunity to chew Nixon and Hester out while she was at it. "Let me check with the girls."

Slipping back into the office, she leaned against the doorframe and considered the three members of her team—all of whom were pretending like they hadn't just listened in on her conversation with Dick. "Any of you hungry?"

There were half-hearted sounds of agreement but little else besides. Eleanor calmly folded her arms across her chest. "I hear the chef's making mash."

Anne snorted, a sound Eleanor wasn't used to hearing from her, and Evelyn turned around in her seat with exaggerated enthusiasm.

"Oh wow," she enthused sarcastically, "_Variety_."

"Yeah, lucky us," Sara chimed in, flipping the folder she'd been working on shut and rising from her seat. Closer to Eleanor, Anne was doing much the same.

"Hey, maybe there'll even be Spam to go along with it," she said with a grin, grabbing the two shoulder bags besides the table and handing one to her boss. Sara and Evelyn exchanged amused glances.

"Yum!" they chorused, linking arms and joining their colleagues at the door. Eleanor, for her part, understood where they were coming from; potatoes and canned meat had been a staple in their diet recently, in all their many shapes and sizes, and everyone was starting to tire of them._ I guess Van Gogh was on to something all those years ago..._

"That's good," she commented wryly, a note of fondness to her voice, "You two should take that on the road."

Sara's eyes glinted deviously. "We're holding out for the vaudeville."

Pushing herself away from the wall she'd been slouched against, Eleanor grimaced. "Oh, God, don't let the boys hear that," she said, knowing that she would never hear the end of it if they did. It wasn't like the men needed any encouragement; best not to give it to them if at all possible.

"Would we do such a thing, ma'am?" Evelyn asked, all doe-eyed innocence. Her CO chuckled and clapped her on the shoulder.

"Come on, time for chow."

The three girls filed out of the door together, a tight-knit little group that Eleanor trailed after with a smile. When Winters spotted them he straightened almost imperceptibly, nodding his head at them formally. "Lieutenants."

"Sir," they replied in unison, acknowledging him dutifully while feigning they didn't notice the way the captain's eyes softened when he spotted Eleanor—nor the way she furtively brushed her hand along his seconds later.

"Lead the way," Winters gestured, falling in step with Eleanor and chatting to her quietly as they made their way towards the mess. Though his promotion had been well deserved and an honor for him, Eleanor had a creeping suspicion he didn't much like his new job. He didn't complain about it outright - he never would - but she picked up on it regardless, taking note of small signs like the way he phrased certain things or the manner in which his mouth would twist when he mentioned others. It was obvious to her that all the paperwork and formalities were boring him to tears, and more obvious still that he missed his men.

They met up with Nixon and Hester at the entrance to the makeshift dining hall, watching them smile in passing at the three women walking ahead of them before moving to exchange their own hellos.

"Gentlemen," Eleanor greeted, not-quite-accidentally bumping her hip into Nixon's before nudging the men along towards the queue. Hester smiled at her affectionately.

"Hey, Ellie," he said, joining in the line behind her, "How are you doing?"

"You tell me," she threw back at him over her shoulder, idly dangling her mess tin from the tips of her fingers, "Between the two of you you've managed to check up on me almost every hour of the day."

She could feel Hester tense. "I'm sure that's not—"

"Nah, you're right, Elle," Nixon interrupted him smoothly, leaning past them both to grab the last bit of Spam that looked remotely appetizing. "Someone's got to make sure you don't go crackers again, might as well be us."

Eleanor opened her mouth to protest, closed it, then opened it again to choke out what might have been a laugh had it not sounded quite so cynical. _Unbelievable_. "Thanks, Lew!"

"Pleasure," he grinned, finding them a relatively quiet spot in the corner to settle down in. Though the building was spacious and had better facilities than most others in the area, there was still a severe shortage of tables and chairs when it came to mealtimes—not least of which because the aid station down the hall had claimed most of the upholstery. Still, between the roof over their head and the hot meal in their hands - the dreaded slice of spam Spam, half-mashed potatoes (Eleanor suspected part of it may have been powdered once) and a dollop of local-grown kale - none of them were about to grouse much.

Trying and failing to hide his smile, Winters leaned against a radiator besides his friends and turned to Eleanor. "What's the word from across the river?"

"There's been a call up of all bicycles, which is worrisome," Eleanor said, distractedly mixing together the various bits of food on her tin. It was the most recent development in enemy activity and perhaps the most alarming one, too; bicycles were the main form of transportation for both the civilian population and the resistance, so the Germans laying claim to them was as clear a message as any.

"How come?" Hester asked, having long since given up on trying to make his dinner any tastier and plowing through it steadily instead. Eleanor rubbed at her forehead.

"Besides the fact that it might indicate further German mobilization?" she said, wrinkling her nose in distaste - there were definitely clumps of powder in her mash - and waiting until Hester had nodded before continuing, "They've blocked off roads and are searching the houses for hidden bikes."

"Sounds pretty desperate to me," Nixon remarked, holding out his hip flask to Eleanor until she'd turned it down with a wave of her hand.

"Maybe," she sighed, smiling at him in thanks, "But it doesn't bode well for anyone hiding out around the area."

Winters, meanwhile, seemed pensive. "How many of them do you think are out there?"

"Hard to say," Eleanor muttered around a mouthful of dinner, "At least a hundred, maybe twice as much. We're only getting in fragmented reports at the moment." Looking between her fellow officers, she raised an issue that had bothered her ever since Dick had brought it up earlier.

"What's all this about supply drops?"

"We're not sure," Hester admitted, "Colonel Sink hasn't been exactly forthcoming with the details. The Brits have been bringing in new material relatively regularly, so we're not doing too badly ourselves."

_Well, thank God for that_. The last thing any of them wanted was for their provisions to be scarce; an army marched on its stomach, after all, and bandages at that if they faced combat as often as the 506th did. Yet if they really were doing as well as Hester was making them out to be and the Brits had things covered so far as the supplies went, just what had Sink called them in for?

"But?" Eleanor urged, sensing there was more to the matter.

"But we're worried about the strain on the locals, and so is the colonel."

Eleanor's fork clanged against the edge of her tin. "Really?" she said, puzzled, "_That's_ what he wants to talk to you about?"

"The Dutch have been generous, but winter is coming and reserves are running out," Winters noted, pushing the remnants of his meal around somewhat guiltily.

"Yeah, and since we encouraged the rail unions to go on strike when we first came to town there's likely to be retaliations to boot," Nixon added glumly. Eleanor knew they were both right; while most soldiers remained happily oblivious of the occupied country's looming shortages, a few of the more astute among them - including her friends, apparently - had started to take notice. The fear of a rotten winter ahead was a very genuine one, especially because of the threat of German retribution—there was no way they would let the protests slip, not when the railways played such an integral part in their infrastructure.

For her part, Eleanor had made note of the issue in her reports to General Taylor after several members of the resistance had mentioned it to her in passing. They were too proud to ask her for help outright, but their concern had been palpable. She understood where they were coming from; she'd seen similar reprisals in France two winters ago, and no parent - for that's what every single one of the men who'd approached her had been - wanted to see their children go hungry.

Nevertheless, she wasn't sure what Colonel Sink might want to or even could do about it. "We're a combat force, though, not the Red Cross," she said, throwing her hands up defensively when all three men turned to look at her. "I'm just saying we perhaps shouldn't be the ones to take care of this."

"Fair point," Nixon conceded, "We'd have a better chance talking to the chaplains. They might know how to get the message through to the right people."

"True."

"General Taylor would know who to talk to, wouldn't he?" Winters said, twisting his fork between his fingers. Eleanor bit her lip and considered their already limited options.

"He will do," she said slowly, wondering if the general so much as remembered the footnotes from her reports. _Whether he's willing to act on it even if he does is a whole other matter, though. _Regardless, talking to him might just be their best bet in trying to do something about the situation, not to mention the quickest way of doing so. _On which note…_ "Hey, if you do end up talking to Taylor, could you pass a report along to him for me?"

"You could come with us," Winters suggested, tone carefully nonchalant. Eleanor stretched her back and smiled.

"I could, but I'm also meant to be bringing supplies to the outposts."

The comment itself was offhand enough, but it got the exact reaction Eleanor had anticipated—if not the one she'd hoped for. She could practically see the men bristle. "That's new," Nixon said mildly, raising a dark eyebrow at her. It took her considerable effort not to roll her eyes at him in turn.

"Not really," she retorted, "It's been a while, but no, not really."

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" Winters asked, and where he'd taken care to keep his voice neutral before there was no such indifference to it now. Likewise, Eleanor lost her patience and lifted her gaze to the heavens in sheer frustration.

"Good lord..."

"I'm only—"

"I cracked a rib, Dick, I'm not terminal," she said sharply, "I'm doing my job here, remember?"

It was almost a relief to hear Nixon chuckle, but it was not a sensation that was to last for very long. "That's what you said last time," Hester pointed out, his memories of Opheusden still fresh enough for him to sound more severe than he'd probably intended to.

"Yeah, because the lot of you seem intent to keep on questioning it."

"Of course we do," Winters placated gently, "We're concerned."

"So am I, but that doesn't man I second-guess any of _your_ duties," Eleanor said, fearing this age old discussion might never end; not, at least, in her lifetime. _If they can risk their lives like this, then why the hell shouldn't I?_ She returned her canteen to her utility belt with a shake of her head, twisting to face Hester in the process.

"You know I looked up the mission statement for snipers?" she said, keen to recite the handful of sentences she'd committed to memory, "_The sniper creates casualties among enemy troops, slows enemy movement, frightens enemy soldiers, lowers morale, and adds confusion to their operations…_"

"Except the Army doesn't really have any snipers," Hester reasoned calmly, steadfast as ever. Part of Eleanor wanted to continue to argue and get her point across, but then she also recognized a lost cause when she saw one and needed to get her chores done.

"Their loss," she said instead, smiling grimly at the men around her and rolling her shoulders back to get rid of the residual stiffness in them. "Right, boys, I have work to do."

"I'll see you out," Winters said promptly, stowing away his mess kit and waiting for her to do the same. Nixon, leaning lazily against one of the wooden beams, gave them an irreverent little salute.

"Have fun," he drawled, "We'll see you in the morning."

_Ha, depends on your definition of morning!_ "Bright and early, huh Nix?" Eleanor ribbed, letting his double entendre sip for the time being; thankfully, so did he.

"You know me, morning person through and through."

"Be careful, all right?" Hester told Eleanor grudgingly, holding her mess tin for her as she readjusted some of the straps on her bag.

"Yes dad," she said, snatching the tin back from him but smiling warmly as she squeezed his shoulder. For all that he could get on her nerves, he was a dear friend. Scanning the room until she'd found the section of her team that had come to dinner with them, she started to make for the exit.

"Hey, Annie?"

"Yeah?" the younger woman called back, looking up from her animated discussion with one of the other staff officers.

"I'm heading out on a supply run," Eleanor said, walking backwards for a few steps so she could keep eye contact with her subordinate, "Could you wrap up for the evening?"

"Sure, captain."

Reassured that the girls would have things covered while she was away, Eleanor headed out into the darkened courtyard, Winters following closely behind. They kept their distance while crossing the open space, remaining wary of any public displays of affection, but drew closer together as they neared the part of the building that housed the aid station.

"Are you taking one of the jeeps?" Winters asked, gaze fleeting past the vehicles that were parked along the side of the grounds.

"Probably," Eleanor said. She had briefly considered taking a bicycle instead, given it was both a quick and rather more circumspect form of transport, but had come to the conclusion that it wouldn't hold all of the material she needed to take with her soon after. The jeeps were her next - and likely only - option.

"Might hitch a ride, might take my own."

"Good," Winters nodded, the two of them slinking into a shadowy niche between the tank parked in the square and the building behind it. "Good. If you see Easy, could you, uh—could you make sure Sergeant Grant's not pushing himself too much?"

Eleanor smiled softly, touched by his concern for the men. "Of course."

"Luz could do with some new batteries, if you can find any," he continued, ducking his head, "I think Lipton's mother's been unwell, so maybe—"

"Dick," Eleanor interrupted him, laughing quietly. Bless him. With a swift glimpse around to make sure no one could see them, she reached over and kissed him. "I'll check in on them, I promise."

The last thing she saw before stepping inside was his crooked, grateful smile.

* * *

It was nearing midnight when Eleanor finished her rounds and started her drive back to regimental headquarters. The road that ran along the back of the Rhine dike was quiet at this time of day, streaks of mist rolling off the river and draping across the blacktop in ghostly whirls. It would have been eerie had she not been exceedingly glad that it was this tranquil; there were no whistles of incoming artillery, no sounds of distant gunfire, and - perhaps remarkably - no rain. All she could hear was the steady thrum of her jeep's engines and the rustle of the wind, which was exactly the way she liked it.

She smiled to herself and drummed her fingers against the steering wheel, humming _I'll Guess I Have To Change My Plan_ under her breath. (George Luz's fault for getting it stuck in her head, as usual.) The men had been glad to see her - if not for the company then for the morphine and bandages she'd brought with her - and if she'd stuck around a certain unit longer than she had the others, well, the battalion XO had asked her to look in on them. It had been a good few hours, all in all, though now that her duties were done she was looking forward to the warmth of the box bed she shared with Betty and the prospect of at least some uninterrupted rest. Having another person close to her while she slept seemed to help with her nightmares, strangely enough; though she'd been wary of it at first (what if she'd end up attacking her like she Maria?), Betty's steady persistence that things would be fine had eventually convinced her and she had yet to regret the decision.

Then, roughly two-hundred meters ahead of her, she spotted movement at the top of the dike. The clear skies and nearly full moon notwithstanding, she was driving without headlights and could not make out much besides the fact that whatever was clambering over the embankment was large and moved suspiciously like a human being. She squinted. _Damn_. It was definitely a man she was seeing, and there was no way he belonged to the 506th: there was no reason for the troopers in the nearby foxholes to be leaving their posts and there were no patrols in progress either, meaning she had probably just discovered an enemy operative trying to sneak into their territory.

Easing her foot off the gas and reaching for the holster on her thigh, she waited until the man had reached the ditch at the bottom of the dike, half expecting his compatriots to follow and endlessly glad when they didn't. _Small mercies._ He stumbled into the strip of field that stretched out between the levee and the road, hands fumbling on the dew-soaked grass; if he was a German agent, he was not doing too great a job of staying inconspicuous. _But he's wet_, Eleanor realized, _meaning he's bloody well swum across the river and is at least trying to remain unseen._

She killed the engine and hoped to high hell her suspicions about him being on his own were right. "Hey!" she shouted, leaping from the vehicle and drawing her sidearm as she jogged over towards the stranger. The man's head shot up, wide eyes finding hers as he groped for and aimed his own weapon.

"Hande höch!" Eleanor demanded, taking the safety off her gun with a metallic click. She had the slight advantage of being on higher ground - the road was set on a causeway - but that was really as far as her luck went. If the man decided to shoot it was very likely that she'd be hit—maybe not fatally, but bad enough to get her into serious trouble.

"Shit—" the man hissed, evidently coming to much the same conclusion about his own odds, but Eleanor frowned at his choice of words. _Hang on..._

"You're not German," she said, lowering her gun only marginally; even if she wasn't, it still didn't explain what he was doing sneaking around their territory at this time of night.

"You don't say," the man said sardonically, shaking his head to get his dripping hair out of his eyes and tightening his grip on his revolver. Eleanor felt her mouth fall open in disbelief when she recognized his accent.

"You're _British_?"

"And you're American," he countered, sounding as though he were talking to a very small child, "Now that we've established this, could we please lower our weapons?"

Could she lower it? She wasn't too sure. Yes, the Brits were meant to be retreating, and yes, a lot of it would likely be done via the 506th's share of the line, but she'd heard nothing about any of them doing so tonight; not a word, not a peep, not so much as a whisper. It didn't sit well with her. What if the Germans had picked up on the British retreat and had sent this man across to spy on his supposed Allies? It wouldn't be the first time such a thing had happened, especially not in these parts. She remembered her friend Leo Marks' despair over the compromised networks all too well.

Should she lower her gun, who knew what this stranger might do?

"Not so fast, buddy," she said evenly, not moving an inch, "What's you name?"

"David Dobie, British First Airborne."

_Doesn't ring any bells, but that's not too big of a shock_. "Okay, David Dobie, British First Airborne, what the hell are you doing breaching our perimeter in the middle of the night?"

"I was sent to find the American 101st."

He got that much right, at least, but then the entire Island was occupied by their division; the fact that they were there was hardly a secret. Eleanor took a moment to take in his appearance, noticing the drenched civilian clothing and bedraggled shoes. If he was a Red Devil, he hadn't made the common mistake of keeping his army issue footwear. Not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing in this case, though. There were few other clues as to who he might be; he had sharp eyes set in face that seemed neither particularly Anglican or Germanic to her, and his stature was similar if a little shorter than Nixon's was. The only real giveaway to his identity was the way he pronounced certain words.

"You've found them," Eleanor said warily, "If that accent's anything to go on, you're an officer, correct?"

To her astonishment, he actually cracked a smile. "Top marks, my dear," he complimented, though the remark was about as hollow as a jack-o'-lantern. "If you don't mind me asking, what's a girl like you doing—"

"In a place like this?" she finished for him, thoroughly unimpressed. _Should have known he'd go for the charm offensive, but even so, does that line ever really work?_ "Right now, aiming a gun at your head."

"Yes, I did wonder about that," Dobie said; if he was at all thrown by her pluck, he didn't show it. "Tell me, is it customary for the Yanks to hold their allies at gunpoint?"

"It is when they sneak around our outposts," she noted, flexing her fingers around the cool metal of her pistol, "Call it a precautionary measure. Besides, pot, kettle, etcetera."

"Come now, darling, we both know you wouldn't actually kill me."

_No, perhaps not_. Unless it came down to a matter of him-or-her, she would at worst shoot to maim and incapacitate; she wasn't one to take another's life lightly, and if nothing else he might be useful to the boys over at interrogation. She balked at the idea of being taken any less seriously simply because she might not necessarily kill him, however. _I'm not screwing around here, pal. Let's be clear about that._ Raising an eyebrow and lowering her gun from his chest to his groin without a word, her lips pulled up the tiniest amount when she saw him swallow uncomfortably.

"Fair enough."

She shifted minutely, her ribs remaining sore from what had happened the previous week. Besides his suspicious behavior, Dobie had also gotten between her and her chance at getting a good night's rest; she honestly wasn't sure which annoyed her more. "As pleasant as this is, let me ask you again: why are you here?"

"I told you, I was sent to find the 101st."

"That's funny," she said, not quite able to tell whether he was lying or not._ If only I could see his damn pupils._ Then again, he might be telling the truth and still have less than savory intentions; finding the division was one thing, but what was he meant to do once he had?

"We haven't heard anything to that effect."

Dobie frowned up at her quizzically. "And by 'we' you would mean..."

"The division."

"You really want me to believe—" he protested, expression growing increasingly incredulous.

"Gun, groin, high ground," Eleanor interrupted him easily, gesturing with her weapon to illustrate her point, "Your choice." The Brit heaved a despairing sigh.

"I was told we were in touch with your OC."

"And by 'we' you mean..." Eleanor mocked, faintly gleeful to be gaining the upper hand even if she had no idea where it might lead her. Should his intentions turn out to be honorable there would no doubt be several hours worth of paperwork and heaven knows what else ahead, and she didn't even want to consider what might happen if they were otherwise. Either way her night was looking to be a whole lot busier than previously anticipated.

Apparently so was his; he was growing as impatient as she was, it seemed. "Oh, for heaven's—" he exclaimed, visibly forcing himself to calm before continuing, "Look, could you just take me to your headquarters?"

"You show up in the middle of the night, unannounced and dripping wet, and you expect me to just... take you to our headquarters."

"Humor me."

"_Humor_ you?" Eleanor said, huffing out a laugh, "You could be a deserter for all I know, or worse, a spy—"

"This coming from the _woman_ holding a supposed _ally_ at gunpoint," Dobie snapped through gritted teeth. Eleanor smiled slyly.

"I'll lower mine if you lower yours," she said, exaggeratedly saccharine; she had no intention of doing so, but his response might be interesting to observe.

"Not a chance."

"Oh well," Eleanor shrugged, not in the least disappointed by his refusal, "It was worth a try." It left them at somewhat of a stalemate, however, and one she still couldn't see a way out of at that. Don't close doors, keep an escape close. Her mind whirled past possible options and solutions, bounding from one improbability to the next and back again. If she were to get anywhere at all, she would have to give in a little, surrender some small piece of information. It was a risk, but one she had to take.

"I'm with the 101st."

"Splendid!" Dobie said, brightening at her admission. The tension seemed to drain from him somewhat, soon replaced by an unexpected and vaguely scathing scene of humor. "And what is it you do for them? Harass us Limeys?"

Eleanor narrowed her eyes at him, unamused. "I'm a frontline nurse."

"Your medics carry weapons these days? I wasn't aware."

"Forgive me for sparing you the details of my further duties," she returned, trying to keep her voice light but knowing he'd gained an edge on her; getting cornered like this was a feeling she did not much care for.

"Now who's the spook?" Dobie challenged, eyebrows shooting up in what could have been astonishment. Eleanor smiled tersely.

"Not a spook," she said, "Just an intelligence clerk." She chose the term purposefully, knowing it was what most British women working in the sector were told to call themselves. To anyone in the civilian world they were never more than secretarial staff, even if they helped solve the most complicated enemy cyphers; just like many of the SOE's girls were just mechanics, just nurses, and just drivers.

"With a gun."

"Yes," Eleanor agreed coolly, "Now, you were saying?"

"There's a few of us stuck in German territory," Dobie began, sighing when Eleanor remained significantly silent, "Obviously we'd rather not be."

_No shit._ "And you were hoping we could help smuggle you across the Rhine?" Eleanor proposed, shaking her head and finally lowering her gun when all he did was shrug. Bugger, maybe he's legit after all. The gun remained in her hand, though, and the safety remained off.

"A bit of warning would have been nice."

Across from her, Dobie slowly let his arms down as well. "Ah, see, I wasn't actually sure I'd be going until a few hours ago," he said by ways of explanation, continuing to watch her every move, "The weather, you know."

"Try the telephones, I hear they're marvelous," she scoffed, not about to buy communication issues as an excuse—not anymore.

"I told you, we did—"

"So you've said," Eleanor cut in, feeling like she could probably recite his story as well as he could. She bit her lip and scrutinized him for a moment, the pesky voice in the back her head reminding her of the old_ innocent until proven guilty_ principle. It wasn't one she put as much stock in as she used to - not after several years worth of war - but there was still something to it. "Say that you are telling the truth," she said at length, "And that you aren't just selling out your country—"

"You ought to watch what you're saying, my dear," Dobie interrupted her, all traces of levity gone now, "I don't much care for your tone."

_Touchy, are we?_ "Given that I'm standing between you and your supposed objective, I suppose you'll just have to live with it."

"Listen—" he said, shoulders sagging the tiniest amount and a hint of desperation creeping into his demeanor, "I've got less than a day to organize the safe transfer of a hundred and forty men. _My_ men. I don't quite know what else to tell you."

Eleanor blinked. _Huh_. "A hundred and forty men?"

"That's right."

_Well, I wasn't far off._ Snapping the safety back on, she holstered her weapon and deftly secured it in the holster on her thigh. "Boy, they're going to _love_ you up at regiment."

"You'll take me there?" Dobie asked hopefully, the hand that still grasped his own gun hovering uselessly by his side. Eleanor cocked her head sideways, weary but intrigued, disgruntled but beginning to get strangely excited about the idea of a rescue mission. It had been ages since she'd run an operation like this; it would be interesting to see if she could still pull it off.

"Yes," she conceded, though she was careful not to turn her back on Dobie or give him any further advantages over her. _Better safe than sorry._

"Oh, Christ—" he declared, swiping the last of the river water from his face, "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," Eleanor said, motioning towards where her jeep was parked, "We'll have to see about confirming your identity first."

"And what shall I call you in the meantime, Nurse Spook?" Dobie wanted to know, tucking this gun into the waistband of his trousers. Eleanor winced at the absurdity of the nickname.

"Anything but that."

"Captain Spook?" he suggested instead, catching a glimpse of her insignia in the faint light of the moon; once again, her silence spoke volumes, but Dobie wasn't about to let up. "Tell me, where do you get this—" he said, pausing for dramatic effect, "Intelligence—from? The Red Cross?"

She shot him a look, already rethinking her previous enthusiasm; if she was going to have to work with this man - as she rather expected she might - she was in for an exhausting few days. "Just because I don't have a gun leveled at you anymore doesn't mean I can't hurt you."

"You know I outrank you," he told her, halting abruptly and forcing her to do the same in the process. Eleanor didn't know, since he wasn't wearing a uniform or anything else that might denote his rank, but it wasn't particularly unexpected now that she thought about it. She regarded him skeptically.

"You want me to start calling you sir?"

A beat of tense silence. Then— "Nah," Dobie grinned, "I like my Yanks with a touch of insouciance."

_God help me._ "Get in the car, would you?" she said, rolling her eyes when he made a point of smirking at her unhurriedly before moving over towards the vehicle. Once he'd reached the passenger's side she jumped back into her seat, grimacing slightly at the remnants of rainwater that pooled near her feet, and waited for him to take his place; yet after a solid minute, he still hadn't gotten in.

"What?" Eleanor said brusquely, remaining on edge and growing more than a little exasperated with his antics. He was staring at her thoughtfully; now that she didn't have a gun pointed at him and the scattered clouds had drifted away from the moon, she looked younger than he'd taken her for, more fragile and almost more vulnerable. Old bruises mottled her face along with a handful of small, nearly healed cuts and there were shadows to her eyes that he expected weren't just from exhaustion, yet somehow, someway, there was something eerily familiar about her.

"Have we met before?" he asked, one arm draped over the windshield of the jeep. Eyebrows drawing together, Eleanor gazed back at him curiously; it wasn't outside the realm of possibility that they had, but the chances were still pretty slim. It didn't take her long to discern that she hadn't met him in an official capacity - she would have remembered him if she had, more likely than not - but she had to admit that there was something familiar about him, too. The fact that she couldn't pinpoint why or how disturbed her.

"I'm tall, I'm fair," she shrugged, pointedly dismissive, "I probably just remind you of the locals."

Dobie didn't seem convinced. "No," he said slowly, shaking his head, "No, it's something else. I'm sure of it."

_Damn it_, Eleanor thought, jaw clenching, _stop getting under my skin like this_. "And I'm sure that if you don't get in now, I'm driving off without you and can find headquarters by yourself."

At long last, the Brit clambered into the car. "You're driving without headlights?"

"Last I looked the blackout was still in effect," she said, acutely aware that this was only the beginning of what might be a lengthy uphill battle, "Besides, it's a clear night, we'll be fine."

"I can't decide whether you're audacious or just plain mad," Dobie laughed, settling down into his seat. Eleanor swallowed an insult but couldn't quite make herself smile.

"Neither, thanks."

"Maybe you're both," he said, shaking his head when she started the engine and it came back to life with a rumble, forcing him to raise his voice to be heard.

"And I still think you look familiar!"

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**Thank you for reading - reviews still make my day. :)**

**Also, this chapter was originally meant to be longer but I've decided to cut it into smaller pieces. I'm still not very happy with it - you know how these things go - but I've already written significant parts of the rest of it, so hopefully I'll be able to upload that soon. There's definitely more shenanigans with our favourite British lieutenant colonel ahead. Major thanks for all of your patience!**


	34. It Had To Be You

**Disclaimer: this story is based chiefly on the Band of Brothers miniseries and the characters as they are portrayed therein, which are owned by Spielberg, Hanks et all. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for the real veterans and this is not in anyway intended to portray them or their experiences.**

* * *

It was now half past midnight, and the facts were these: one, Eleanor was stuck with a somewhat insolent British paratrooper and probably would be for some time to come; two, the man in question was infuriatingly inscrutable; three, she might be in an as of yet indeterminate amount of trouble if what he was saying turned out to be true.

As far as days went, October 17th wasn't off to a great start. Whether it was because of her own lingering exhaustion or Dobie's inherent sense of enigma (she cringed inwardly; best not repeat those words out loud), Eleanor just couldn't seem to get a grasp on him. None of her usual tactics were working. She questioned; he deflected. She flirted; he flirted right back and turned the tables on her. For someone who prided herself upon being able to read people, she was getting frustratingly little from him. Sure, his sentiments about wanting to get his men to safety had seemed genuine enough, but other than that he remained hard to gauge. There was something sly about the way he smiled, the glint in his eyes careful and calculated even in the dark of the autumn night, and every time she thought she was close to figuring him out he threw her for another loop. Whoever he was and whatever his intentions might be, she had to admit he was good.

Outward appearances didn't get her very far either. His accent was broadly RP and decidedly upperclass, which meant he probably _was_ an officer, but she couldn't distinguish any regional inflections in his voice and there was no indication as to whether he was a career soldier or just another wartime recruit. For all she knew, he might be a lieutenant colonel—or a simple lieutenant. His clothes were random and impersonal and likely borrowed (stolen?) from a civilian, which had her thinking he was either clever or had some experience blending in—but then what Red Devil didn't these days? More importantly, _whose_ notice was he trying to escape, and what if it hadn't been his choice of outfit at all but rather a German handler's—

Eleanor squeezed her eyes shut for the briefest of seconds in an attempt to refocus them on the road; it took considerable effort not to reach up and rub them as well. _No signs of weakness,_ she reminded herself, _don't give him the satisfaction_. The relentless loop of who-is-he-and-how-does-he-know-me she'd gotten stuck on wasn't getting her anywhere either. Now was not the time for paranoia; they'd find out whether he was the real McCoy soon enough, after all, and it was what came after which really ought to concern her. If his claims were proven false he'd be easy enough to deal with: a simple telephone call to the division's interrogation team and a bat of her lashes at an unsuspecting (and soon to be on guard duty) GI would more than suffice. If they weren't, however, and he actually was telling the truth - well - the resulting hours worth of paperwork and sleep deprivation would be the least of her troubles.

Maneuvering her jeep into the drive that led to the regimental headquarters, she caught sight of its buildings in the distance and exhaled slowly. _Time to face the music, I suppose._The old farm that made up the main part of the base loomed overhead as they drew closer, its thatched roof seeming to cast its shadows across them as she slowed the vehicle down. Not a heartbeat later a flashlight flickered on beside the road, startlingly bright in an area where the sole other source of light were the faint traces of it ringing the windows of the house; in the passenger seat, Dobie stiffened noticeably before realizing they were merely approaching the sentries stationed at the edge of the site. The sound of their weapons being cocked reverberated hollowly through the air.

"Halt! Who's there?"

"Captain Fairfax," Eleanor replied calmly, pulling up beside the guard post. She flinched as the beam of light was redirected straight into her eyes and squinted until she could make out the poncho-clad form of the trooper behind it; the man grinned when he recognized her.

"Acorn," he said, giving her the new challenge that had been agreed upon after Opheusden. Eleanor had always felt it was a bit of an unnecessary exercise in her case - there were only so many women in American uniform around at the end of the day, and the majority of the regimental staff knew her by sight if not by name - but one they were duty bound to go through regardless.

"Squirrel," she answered, tilting her head to smile at the men manning the machine gun just beyond the trooper carrying the flashlight. They saluted her in unison, seeming to take Dobie for granted as another resistance member or foreign contact; Christ knew she brought in enough of those.

"Go on through, captain," the guard said, thumping the side of the jeep before offering her his own salute. Having returned it and been allowed to pass, Eleanor drove to the midst of the buildings that formed the HQ, bypassing the tank parked ominously beside the former stables and steering her car into an empty spot between the other vehicles. She'd scarcely turned the key in the ignition when Dobie turned to her with a triumphant smirk.

"So," he said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself, "Fairfax, is it?"

_Oh, for crying out loud._ She'd very nearly forgotten about his idiotic quest to discover her name; his efforts had only doubled once she'd flat out refused to reveal it to him, but she'd been mostly able to drown him out with a convenient revving of the engine while they were driving. Now that they had arrived, however, she was sorely out of luck.

"Yes," she said impatiently, easing herself out of her seat and straightening out her uniform almost without thinking. Truth be told it had only been a matter of time before he found out, but she would have much preferred for it to have happened on her own terms and without any gloating on his part—not to mention after she'd had a chance to figure out his game and whatever possible connection there might be between them.

"What, no given name?"

She was on the verge of snapping a response at him when the creak of a door distracted her. Another trooper - one of Sink's personal staff this time - appeared from behind it and leaned out to look around the courtyard, seeming relieved when he noticed Eleanor nearby.

"Captain Fairfax!" he called, bracing himself against the sudden wave of cold that came with stepping outside, "Ma'am, Colonel Sink wants you to know General Taylor says there'll be a British—" He fell abruptly silent when Dobie emerged from the other side of the car and stepped into the light. "Oh. I guess you found him."

"I guess I did," Eleanor said, tossing her keys from one hand to the other as the aide squirmed and smiled a little awkwardly.

"The colonel's in his office, ma'am."

_Really now?_ She took off her helmet and managed half a smile in return. "Thank you," she said wearily, wishing that _someone_ would have just told her what was going on; the fact that they hadn't complicated matters greatly. It seemed Dobie had been right about his men being in touch with General Taylor, something which only confirmed Eleanor's fears that they had skipped right by her and gone straight to division instead—regardless of the week her team had spent trying to establish a working relationship with them, and despite Taylor's express request that she handle all of the 101st's dealings with the British.

She pressed her lips together in silent frustration. _Damn it, I thought we'd gained enough of their trust for them to come directly to us if they needed help._ How was she supposed to work with them if they'd sidelined her like this? If they didn't even trust her with the advance party, then how on earth was she meant to convince them that she could get their entire group to safety?

Because if there was one thing she was now absolutely certain of, it was that she would be expected to play her part in this mess. Between her background, her position and Taylor's expectations of both, she was stuck in the middle whatever way she looked at it—never mind the fact that she'd been the one to stumble over Dobie in that soggy field by the Rhine. Yet the more she thought about it the more apprehensive she became. Yes, there was the faint thrill of getting to work on a covert mission again, but it had been well over a year since she'd done anything remotely similar to what would be required of her here. It left her feeling insecure, her mind uneasy; would she still be able to pull it off? Cherbourg had all been very well, when it had just been her and Archie making nice with the locals and sneaking around the countryside to do recon, but this would be a whole different sort of daring. Extracting people from enemy territory - over a hundred at that if Dobie were to be believed, which she was starting to think he ought to be - was no small feat, especially not if the British were going to be this much trouble. _And remember, last time around you were the one being extracted, not the other way around..._

At least Sink was awake; she shuddered to think what his reaction would have been like if they'd been forced to drag him out of bed for this. Peering at Dobie from the corner of her eyes, she took a moment to study him anew. _So he's legit, huh?_ Even standing in the light that spilled out from the building there was very little she could determine about him other than that his eyes were perhaps a different color than she had thought at first; nothing useful, certainly. He turned his head and looked at her in turn, seeming to study her as well. _Perhaps he's trying to work out why I struck him as familiar before_, she thought, _God knows I am_. At first she held his gaze out of stubbornness more than anything else, but as several long seconds passed she realized he wasn't just studying her—he was staring. She frowned. _What on earth—_

Then it clicked. "Eleanor," she said, rolling her eyes; he hadn't shown much response to her last name being revealed, so perhaps he wouldn't be able to place her first name either. She sure as hell wasn't going to provide him with any further nicknames. "My _name_ is Eleanor."

A single quirk of her eyebrow sent the enlisted trooper - who, apparently unsure about how to handle the situation, had just chosen to linger in the doorway instead - scurrying inside, soon followed by Eleanor with Dobie trailing in her wake. To her surprise, the Brit caught the door and held it open for her when it threatened to swing shut. "Well then, Captain Eleanor Fairfax, American 101st Airborne," he parroted, and now she knew she was being mocked, "Where would a chap go about finding some dry clothes around here?"

Striding across the threshold, Eleanor shot him a sardonic look. "The laundry, I'd imagine."

"God, you're hard work," Dobie laughed, shaking his head as he moved in after her and closed the door behind them. The entrance hall was deserted, the steady tick-tock of an antique grandfather clock the only discernible disruption. _Well_, Eleanor mused, glancing back at Dobie as he jogged the few paces between them to catch up, _the clock and him._

"But worth it," she retorted, cheeks heating when she saw his eyebrows shoot up and realized just what she had implied. _Where the hell did that come from?_ Remaining polite or playing along to ensure his cooperation was one thing; giving into his flirtations quite another. She cleared her throat, feeling flustered. "They'll have spare uniforms somewhere, I'm sure."

"So you believe me now, do you?" the lieutenant colonel asked, the undercurrent of _I told you so_ resounding almost as clearly as the old fashioned timepiece nearby.

"Suppose I'll have to," Eleanor admitted, "I suspect we'll be working together on this."

"Won't that be fun."

She couldn't help but groan then. "This way," she said, leading him up the stairs the aide had disappeared off on and towards Sink's office. They had just reached the top when a door slammed somewhere down the hall and a voice that had previously only echoed in the distance became suddenly, alarmingly booming.

"... goddammit, this is exactly the kind of SNAFU that got us here in the first place—Fairfax!"

Beside Eleanor, Dobie tensed as they spotted the figures headed towards them; for all of his easy-going teasing and mannerisms, he was still on edge. "Is that..." he said, sotto voce. Eleanor winced.

"Yes," she breathed, forcing her shoulders back and schooling her face into a neutral expression out of long habit. _Seems he's pretty pissed even without the untimely wake-up call. Yikes._

"Sir, this is Lieutenant Colonel Do—"

"Fairfax, are you not running point on our external communications?"

_Aaand breathe out. Easy does it._ "Yes sir, I am."

"Then why the hell did I have to hear about friendly movement across my stretch of the river from the division _commander_?" Sink demanded, every inch as irked and disgruntled as Eleanor had suspected he might be. There wasn't much that could rile him up like this, but things happening behind his back was certainly one of them. Though it was a sentiment Eleanor usually shared - did share, in fact, especially in light of recent events - now was not the time to express it.

"It seems there's been a case of miscommunication, sir."

Completely ignoring Dobie, Sink zeroed in on Eleanor and looked as though he were about to personally interrogate her. "Who dropped the ball on this? Us or them?"

"Neither, sir, not really," she placated, adjusting her body language so that it went from vaguely defensive to composed and wholly appeasing. "They went straight to division rather than talking to us first. I'm sure it's an understandable mis—"

Sink was less than convinced. "For God's sake, there are levels to these things," he declared, "To jump from a regimental officer—"

"To divisional HQ skips several of them, yes sir," Eleanor agreed, nodding._ Acknowledge his annoyance, then move right along to sorting it out._ As ever, it was easier said than done.

"Did they even know to talk to you?"

"I had no cause to believe otherwise, sir," she said evenly, looking at Dobie over her shoulder and doggedly pretending it wasn't somewhat of a sore subject. She knew she might never find out exactly why the Red Devils had chosen not to contact her, even if she did end up working with them, but it bothered her too much for her not to be puzzled about it—and vice versa.

"Right. Well." Sink said, seeming to digest what she'd told him. He nodded - almost to himself, as though he were trying to process the facts and advance from thereon - and turned to Dobie at last, thrusting out his hand towards the younger man. "Robert Sink, 506th Parachute Infantry."

"David Dobie, British First Airborne," the Englishman replied, shaking the proffered hand, "Pleasure."

"What can we do for you, colonel?" Sink said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in a way that had Eleanor instantly concerned. She had fully anticipated the next few days to be a tough balancing act - the Brits were likely to have their own ideas about the escape plans and finding a way to match those with what the Americans were willing and able to provide while simultaneously keeping both parties at least moderately happy would be an interesting challenge - but fervently hoped this wouldn't be the opening volley._At least give me some time to get up to speed first!_ It was at times like these that she wished she'd inherited more of her father's political savvy; even at a young age she'd admired the way he'd been able to tackle any form of negotiation with such tact and skill that the outcome was inevitably the best possible compromise for everyone involved. Whether he was dealing with an unhappy cook or a high-ranked dinner guest grumbling over a fellow visitor's views, he had always seemed to know what to say. Eleanor felt nowhere near as confident about her own abilities.

"I was rather hoping you might help me get some of my men across the Rhine, sir," Dobie said, and she was amazed at the change in him; he was suddenly and utterly pleasant, his demeanor accommodating and almost charming. It was clear he was a man who knew how to get what he wanted, and probably had for most of his life—either that or he was a bloody good actor.

"How many Red Devils are we talking here?"

"A hundred and twenty five, plus a few assorted allies in hiding," Dobie shrugged, making it sound as though he hadn't just requested them to evacuate a whole company's worth of men from behind enemy lines. _Here's to hoping this new found charm holds out and Sink goes along with it._

"Well, ain't that a bang," the CO remarked tersely, but he shook his head and relaxed visibly when he turned to Eleanor. "Captain, see to it that Colonel Dobie's provided with a dry uniform."

She released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Yes sir."

"I expect a full sit rep in an hour," Sink added, which was decidedly less good news; Eleanor knew little more about the situation than he did, so briefing her superiors within that short amount of time could turn out to be tricky. She opened her mouth to protest - surely he could give her another hour, maybe even thirty minutes would do - but Sink was already clapping Dobie on the shoulder.

"Welcome to the 101st, son," he said, nodding at the two of them before turning on his heel and marching off again. The decisiveness in his step was something Eleanor had gotten to know well over the past year; he was already planning ahead, already mentally composing orders and trying to think of junior officers to summon. Even in the middle of the night Robert Sink was not one to dawdle. Glancing back as he hurried after his boss, the colonel's aide shot Eleanor a sympathetic smile that had her struggling to keep from cringing. There'd be no sleep for either of them now, that much was painfully obvious.

_First things first._ If she was going to help run this thing and convince the brass that Dobie was a credible and trustworthy associate, she would have to get him cleaned up at least a little. "Shower's down that-a-way," she said, motioning towards the stairs they'd come up on only minutes before. Proper plumbing was one of the otherwise few perks of staying at regiment; God willing Dobie might feel the same way and go without a fuss.

"If you insist," he grinned, moving only to put his hands on his hips but not an inch besides. His smile did not waver in the slightest when she looked him up and down derisively; if anything, it broadened impertinently when her eyes found his face again. Though he was mostly just damp now, his hair was still plastered to his head in a somewhat unattractive manner and his uniform was as disheveled as it was dirty. The stray piece of foliage stuck to his back served as the cherry on the proverbial sundae; to conclude, 'insist' was perhaps the biggest understatement he could have gone for.

Shaking her head, Eleanor dashed down the stairs and back into the foyer. Against all expectations, it wasn't empty. "Private!" she called, having spotted Brown's by now familiar figure at the other end of the room; apparently not everyone was asleep after all. _Bad luck for him._ The younger man startled and stopped dead in his tracks, easing up minutely when he saw Eleanor standing nearby.

"Yes ma'am?"

"Could you grab—" she began, hesitating for only a beat when Dobie made it down the stairs, rounded on her and put himself right between her and Brown. When he didn't bother to turn around and face the enlisted man behind him, she raised an unimpressed eyebrow and continued. "The colonel here a clean uniform and towel and bring them down to the bathroom?"

"Of course, captain," Brown agreed readily, still standing at attention and having to crane his head to see around Dobie's solid form, "Anything else I can do you for?"

"No, that's all for now," Eleanor said, smiling at him, "Thanks, Pawel."

"Ma'am," he saluted her, hurrying off to gather the items she'd requested. He'd been helpful to her and her team from the moment they'd arrived at regiment, though his efforts had noticeably doubled when she'd taken the effort to get to know him a little—not to mention when Grace had smiled at him sweetly a few days ago._ If only Dobie were this easy to beguile._ Inclining her head towards an adjourning hallway, Eleanor was briefly tempted to grab the Brit's sleeve and bodily drag him along.

"That was uncalled for," she muttered, thankfully spared the decision when he followed her without another hint of protest.

"Pawel?" he asked, apparently indifferent to her rebuke and deftly reaching past her to hold the door open when they reached it—the second time he had done so since she'd met him. For all that he antagonized and taunted her, he seemed strangely intent on maintaining proper manners. These weren't just tactics to get her to oblige him, she suspected; they seemed too ingrained for that, and far too natural. _An officer and a gentleman, or just another gentleman caught up in this ghastly war?_

"His folks are Polish," she shrugged, waiting until Dobie had come through and closed the door before leading him through the hall that stretched on ahead. "He mostly goes by Paul Brown, though."

For some reason Dobie seemed to find this amusing. "You Yanks and your ragbag ancestry," he said, shaking his head with a strange if belittling sort of fondness; it was almost as though he were talking about a younger brother or wayward cousin rather than a whole nation.

"No need to look down your nose," Eleanor said mildly; she might have mostly been raised on the European continent, but damned if she wouldn't defend both sides of her ancestry if the occasion called for it. "You may call yourself English now, but chances are you were French or Scandinavian once," she reminded him, "Maybe even both."

"Been reading Ivanhoe, have we?" Dobie observed, cocking his head when the door opened and shut behind them and rapid footsteps came pattering their way not long after. "My, my," he said, amusement coloring his words as he looked back at Eleanor, "Speedy service."

Sure enough, Brown was standing next to her within seconds and handed her a stack of what she could only assume were the items she'd asked for. "Here you go, ma'am," he said brightly, smoothing out the coarse fabric of the towel that had been placed on top of a generic airborne uniform. Eleanor wondered briefly about soap, but at seeing Dobie's shoulders shake with ill-concealed mirth promptly decided against it.

"Thank you," she said instead, quickly reassuring the private that no, they really didn't need anything else, and yes, that really would be all, thank you again. She returned his salute with a single hand while somewhat precariously balancing the pile of clothes on the other, watching him leave with an odd sense of relief; when he was finally out of earshot, she turned to a now sniggering Dobie and tossed the towel at him unceremoniously.

"Shower. Let's go."

"Yes ma'am," he teased, his mimicry of Brown almost uncanny had it not been for his atrocious attempt at an American accent, "Of course, ma'am!"

Striding into the bathroom ahead of him, Eleanor was halfway glad to spot the bar of soap that had been left behind in the shower - one less thing for him to nag her about - and dumped the uniform in the windowsill. Just as she turned around to leave she realized Dobie's arm was blocking the entrance, his expression unreadable. It was hard to tell what he meant by the gesture; she hadn't thought him in any way malicious until then and while there had been an edge of flirtation to their exchanges all along, keeping her in the bathroom like this seemed awfully ham-fisted.

Yet all the Brit did in the end was hold out his maroon beret and gaze at her imploringly. "Be a darling and look after this for me?" he asked, laughing when she threw her head back in frustration and pushed past him. _For God's sake, I have better things to do._ She would need to have a vague idea of numbers, locations and any related enemy activity at the bare minimum if she was to brief Sink at all, only one of which she had by this point. There was far too much to be done for this kind of tomfoolery to be acceptable.

"Oh, before I forget," Dobie called after her, "Have a look at these." Looking back over her shoulder wearily, Eleanor frowned when she saw the carefully wrapped package in his hands. It looked like he'd pulled it form underneath his jacket; how had she missed the fact that he was carrying something this sizable until now? Silently berating herself, she took it from him hesitantly and undid the waterproof cover. Her eyes widened when she pulled the contents out and saw what they were.

_You have got to be kidding me._ Wrapped together with a rough piece of string were a stack of photographs and documents detailing enemy defenses, a sitrep of the Allied troops in hiding, and exact locations for both. It was all Eleanor could possibly want for in terms of intelligence—and more. _He's been carrying a goddamn burn bag all this while?_

"What—" she spluttered, looking up at Dobie incredulously, "Why the hell didn't you give these to Sink?"

"Simple," he said, ushering her out of the bathroom and shutting the door behind her, "Because I like you better, Nurse Spook!"

She stood and blinked at the painted wood now inches from her face, letting her forehead fall against it for a moment and chuckling wryly. _Ah, screw it._ Better this excruciatingly slow, roundabout form of cooperation than no cooperation at all. _At least he's talking to me, unlike his colleagues up north._

"You might have some trouble with the coded passages," Dobie's voice came from the other room, just about audible over the sound of the shower, "But the photographs should be self-explanatory enough."

"You'd be surprised," Eleanor muttered, lowering herself against the wall and folding her legs beneath her. With most of the regimental staff already in bed, the hall leading towards the main part of the living quarters was blessedly quiet and left her with enough privacy to shuffle through the materials in the package. She could tell it wasn't merely odds and ends of information gathered by a handful of individuals; what she'd been presented with was well-organized and cohesive, which had her convinced there was more of a structure and hierarchy to the way things were being run across the river than they had previously thought.

"You've been busy," she noted, tilting her head towards the door to make herself heard.

"We don't spend _all_ of our time drinking tea, you know!"

"Apparently," she smiled, grabbing a map and pencil from one of the pockets on her leg. "So we're looking at, what, ninety men coming from Ede?" she said, finding the corresponding spot on the chart and circling it.

"And another forty from Reemst, give or take a few."

_Not all of them British either._ According to the rosters there were a handful of American pilots among the troops hiding out with the underground, something Eleanor could not help but wish Dobie had mentioned to Sink earlier. 'Assorted allies' was merely another fact in a long list of information; 'American pilots' was an incentive. Command would be relieved to hear they were safe, not to mention eager to get them back, which might just make them - including the colonel - more amenable to the British demands.

"All right," she said, chewing on the end of her pencil thoughtfully and flipping through the papers. She now knew how many men they were looking at and roughly where they were coming from, but they'd have to find them a viable route of escape before actually getting in touch with them—preferably several just in case the first was compromised. _There's many a slip twixt the cup and the tongue, after all._ Her eyes roamed the map, flitting from the two marked cities to the smaller towns and hamlets where the 506th was currently stationed and back again. There was a large wooded area that looked like it might provide some much needed cover between the point of departure and the point of arrival, but she'd have to talk to Nixon to get a more accurate overview of the enemy disposition and it was the Rhine itself that worried her more most. Her brows furrowed when a passage in one of the files caught her attention.

"This route W—"

"Blown," Dobie interrupted, "I tried crossing there last night, but there's too much enemy movement in the area to allow it."

"This have anything to do with those Kraut soldiers getting killed?" Eleanor wondered out loud, remembering a mention of the incident in one of the recent resistance reports. It - along with several other factors - had contributed to the German decision to seize all of the local bikes.

"No such thing as coincidence, my girl."

_No such thing indeed._ "You're just lucky there isn't more SS around," she said, not for the first time curious as to how he actually _had_ managed to get across. Lew Nixon might be able to tell her more about patrols and outposts, but the account of Dobie's own escape could prove invaluable in trying to determine a course of action. "How did you end up in our perimeter?"

"Easiest to swim to."

That made sense; second battalion was watching a relatively narrow stretch of the river and the banks weren't as steep in their area as they were in other places. "Landable," she nodded, "Okay." The more she considered it, the more Dobie's way seemed like it might be their best option. Though several boats carrying over a hundred men was a rather different affair from a single soldier swimming across, it was as quiet a region as any and the fact that he had managed to make it at all was a promising start—especially if other possible routes had already been jeopardized.

Skipping ahead a few pages, Eleanor found a tentative outline of what the Brits were expecting from the rescue mission; it seemed they had put a good deal of thought into it long before she ever even got involved. She bit her lip in worry, torn between being glad that they were so well prepared and feeling vaguely anxious that their expectations might not line up with what the Americans would want. _Game on, then._

"Red torches, yadee-ya..." she murmured, index finger sliding along the paper. The basic gist of the British plan was that the escape party - all of whom were armed and fit to travel - would make their way to the river at a date and time to be specified, where they would use flashlights to indicate their position and wait for the rescue party to come pick them up. To Eleanor's relief none of their proposals were particularly unreasonable or audacious; they'd still have to figure out a way to bypass the German defenses and they were a long way from home yet, but the Brits had been appropriately cautious in their groundwork and choice of markers. The red lights ought to be enough to locate the evacuees without exposing them or risking the German growing suspicious; when it came to the American side of the river, however, there was nothing planned yet—leaving Eleanor with an opening to score some points for their side.

"Hey, how are you indicating the landing ground from our side?"

Even from underneath a running shower, Dobie sounded doubtful. "Is that really necessary?"

_How else are they meant to navigate?_ The crossing would have to be as swift and straight as humanly possible - they'd be in serious trouble if they ended up drifting along the river just to find their way across - and, perhaps crucially, convention dictated there'd be at least some form of signaling on both sides. "Yeah, we usually use Bofors guns," Eleanor called back, "Changing tactics now probably wouldn't go down well with either command or the men."

"You don't think the Bosche would notice them?"

"Not if we use them for a few days in advance," she reasoned, wincing at how unappealing it must sound to him. It _had_ worked in the past, of course, but any German soldier worth half his while would realize that tracers - even if they were send up like clockwork on a daily basis - usually amounted to something.

The shower was turned off. "We'll have to move within the next week."

_Well, at least that isn't an outright no._ "How's the night of the 23rd sound?" Eleanor said, counting the days on her fingers to make sure she'd gotten the date right. It was pushing the far end of the time limit, but she couldn't rightly tell how long the preparations might take; never mind the boats, there was artillery cover to consider, officers to brief, intelligence to verify, enlisted men to drill...

"Provided we can get the higher ups on board and the logistics sorted," she added quickly, not about to set herself a deadline without a few caveats to go along with it.

"Sounds like an excellent plan."

A smile blossomed on her face. "Great—" she started to say, falling quiet when the door opened and she found herself confronted by a tiny bit of towel and a lot of bare flesh besides. "Oh, geez, would you put a shirt on!" she exclaimed, averting her gaze and feeling her cheeks heat involuntarily. _Stop it,_ she chided herself, _there isn't an inch of the male anatomy you haven't seen, why are you being such a twit about it now?_

"Aw," Dobie said, and she could have sworn she caught him pouting when she raised her eyes again, "Spoilsport."

His banter was the last thing on her mind, however; now that she was looking at him properly, she noticed a still healing wound on his biceps. The sight of it sent an unexpected stab of worry through her. "Your arm's hurt."

"Just a scratch," he dismissed, but Eleanor wasn't convinced and scrambled upright to examine it. _If I had a dollar for every time I've heard that excuse, I could probably single-handedly fund the war effort._

"Looks like it might have been a grenade frag."

The Brit lowered his head towards her conspiratorially. "Well don't ogle, dear, people might talk."

Unable to help herself, Eleanor burst out laughing and ran a hand through her hair. _Damn him._ He certainly knew how to keep her on her toes. She reached for the bag she'd abandoned on the floor, back arching agilely though not without some pain, and rummaged through it for the correct medical supplies. Dobie regarded her dubiously as she fished out a bandage and iodine swab.

"Are you sure you're a nurse, darling?"

Eleanor grinned up at him, reaching for the knife strapped to her shin. "You want me to dig up one of your arteries for you so you can find out?" she suggested innocently, letting her fingers linger over the sheath a little longer than necessary and reveling in his vaguely unsettled expression before straightening out and setting to the task at hand. The water from the shower had cleaned what little of the wound remained open and it was obvious it had been well looked after, but Eleanor preferred not to take risks—especially not where a senior Allied officer was concerned.

"What shall we call our new landingzone, then?" she asked, tearing the packaging from the swab. Dobie hummed pensively.

"Digby, I should think."

"Digby?" Eleanor repeated, not sure if there'd been a reference she'd missed or if the unusual choice of name had some sort of significance to him.

"One of the officers across the river," Dobie explained, flinching faintly when she dabbed the iodine along the edges of his injury. "Good chap, if a bit eccentric."

It was a word she might have used to describe him, so hearing what he'd considered as much ought to be intriguing. "Eccentric, huh?"

"Carries an umbrella everywhere."

_Fair enough._ "Digby it is," Eleanor said, smiling as she reached to tie the bandage around his arm. As she glanced up she noticed he was smiling too; not the impudent leer she'd gotten from him so far but a genuine, almost gentle quirk of his lips that had her catching her breath in surprise.

She _did_ know him. The memories were hazy, muddled by the London fog and the glittering lights of its ballrooms, but his face was more than just familiar—she'd seen it before, and more than once at that. There were fine lines around his eyes now and she could have sworn he'd been more slender before, but it wouldn't be a stretch to say that once, a very long time ago, a _life_time ago, she'd even been his friend.

"You all right there?"

Shaking herself from her momentary stupor, she forced her smile to widen and nodded. "Fine," she said, neatly tucking in the edges of the dressing before taking a decisive step back. "We should probably finalize this before Colonel Sink returns."

"Yes, and I ought to call my chums up north," Dobie agreed, disappearing back behind the door to get dressed. As he did, Eleanor knelt down to gather up the papers and retie the strings around them, her fingers suddenly clumsy on the knots. Several of the sheets slipped from her hands.

"Dammit," she hissed under her breath, desperately trying to stop the tremor in her arms. _It's fine, you're fine, calm down._ She closed her eyes and swallowed back a wave of nausea. _How is it that stuff like this always happens when I least expect it?_ It had been years since she had last seen him; hell, she'd all but forgotten about him, as she was sure he had about her. _Why_ did he have to pop up now? While he posed no direct threat - he didn't, couldn't know anything worth revealing, not now, not anymore - he was far too close to what had once been home, too poignant a reminder of everything that had changed since then. She had been a whole other person when he knew her. Sure, her name was the same, but he hadn't recognized it so far and she looked, sounded, felt, was different._ Eleanor Fairfax, twenty-four, American_. She grimaced; if she continued on like this she'd be reciting her army serial number soon. She only wished the past would stay the past for once.

"You do realize this is going to make my superiors incredibly nervous, right?" she said, forcing herself to focus on the imminent problem of getting this operation ready and running. Her head snapped up when Dobie reappeared beside her, this time dressed in his borrowed - and more importantly spotless - American uniform, his hair combed neatly to the side.

"Oh, I expect so," he said, a devilish glint to his eyes as he held out his hand to her. _If flirtation is what'll keep his mind off who I am and turning this into some sort of absurd nostalgia trip, it's flirtation he'll get._ She allowed him to help her up, pulling his beret from her pocket and reshaping it quickly before placing it on his head. _Besides, he doesn't look right without this damned thing._

"Shall we, then?"

She led him through the darkened hallways and to her team's workroom, checking if the blackout curtains were in place before flicking on the lights and depositing her bag next to her desk. "Telephone's next door," she said, rifling through drawers to find the maps and reports she'd need, "I take it you know how to use one?"

"One might say I'm a natural," Dobie said, "Should I—"

"Go, go," Eleanor prompted, waving her hand absentmindedly. Unfurling the map she'd used to mark Ede and Reemst on, she smoothed it out onto the table and studied the depicted area for several long moments. The distance between the two towns and the river was at least twelve kilometers, if not more; it was a considerable trek to be making through occupied territory. To complicate things further, any form of transportation other than walking might very well be out of the question. Finding enough bicycles would be next to impossible and a fairly foolhardy choice given the recent sanctions, while trucks, in turn, were notoriously difficult to get through enemy checkpoints. She did not doubt that the Brits would find a way to get to the area of embarkation - the fact that they had managed to get this far without being discovered showed a promising sense of ingenuity - but if she could somehow smooth the process along a bit, she definitely would.

Rapping her fingers along the wooden surface of the desk, she leaned over to grab the other documents and arranged them around the map. She'd barely put a handful of them down when she sensed movement behind her and turned to see who it was.

"Betty?" she frowned, voice lilting into a question at her second's unexpected appearance, "What are you doing up?"

"I couldn't help but notice my bed was empty," Betty pointed out, "What's going on?"

It was a fair enough question seeing how Eleanor's absences usually either meant insomnia had struck again and was keeping her up or she'd been called away on urgent business. As far as Betty was concerned, it was bad news all the same. "Rescue mission for the Brits," Eleanor said, leaning back until she felt the edge of the table pressing up against the back of her thighs. Across from her, Betty looked on bemusedly.

"And we're the ones running it?" she asked, crossing the distance between them with two resolute steps when Eleanor nodded in reply. Moving past her CO and towards the far end of the desk, she gaped at the map and scowled. "How the hell didn't we—"

Someone cleared their throat by the door, making both women look up sharply; upon realizing it was Dobie, Eleanor drew in a deep breath and braced herself for what would no doubt be an interesting encounter. "Speak of the devil," she murmured, folding her arms across her chest, "Betty, this is Lieutenant Colonel Dobie with the British First Airborne."

"Charmed, I'm sure," Edwards said slowly, the slightest tightening at the edges of her mouth betraying she really wasn't too sure about it—not yet, in any case. She might not have run into the guy along an otherwise quiet countryside road but his presence had still taken her by surprise; strangers weren't an exactly common occurrence at headquarters this time of night.

"You didn't tell me there were more of you, Nurse Spook," Dobie said to Eleanor, though he kept his eyes locked firmly on the pretty brunette and ignored the way her gaze snapped towards Eleanor in alarm. Eleanor, for her part, just gave him an exasperated look. _Perhaps I ought to hide the rest of my team away before he gets distracted any further..._

"Lieutenant Edwards is my executive officer, as a matter of fact," she said coolly, sending the woman in question a swift smile of reassurance. No one, not even any of the superior officers, had ever called them out on their covert work like this; Dobie's blatant disregard for it clearly did not sit well with Betty, no more than it had with Eleanor less than an hour before.

"I see," he said, and for a split second Eleanor thought that might actually be the end of it; he'd been relatively solemn when they had gone through the British plans for escape and was evidently eager to get his men back to safety, so maybe, just maybe, they would be able to settle down to work without any further shenanigans.

It wasn't to be. "Terribly sorry to have kept your bedfellow from you, old girl," Dobie drawled, and Eleanor realized that he was _enjoying_ this, playing up the stereotype of the smarmy British officer to his heart's content, winding them up and stringing them along—it wasn't about getting what he wanted anymore, he just liked doing it. _Not sure what I was expecting from the man who just walked out of the shower half-naked, knowing full well I would see him. How am I ever going to persuade the brass he's reliable when he can't even take himself seriously?_ Betty's reaction was more imminently worrisome, though; while Eleanor was able to distinguish the traces of raillery in Dobie's voice by this point, she wasn't sure the other nurse could.

"I quite take the blame for any loneliness that may have been incurred," Dobie added gravely, offering her his best look of remorse before finally turning to Eleanor again. "Digby sends his regards and thanks, by the way."

"Lovely," Eleanor said, more than a little caustic, "Perhaps he'll actually remember to call me first next time."

"He will once he's met you, I'm sure," Dobie said, and Eleanor could practically feel Betty bristle beside her; things were going to get ugly if she didn't get her out of there soon. Edwards would never do or say something blatantly insubordinate, of course - she was far too smart for that - but it was nearing 1 AM and her tolerance for bullshit was infamously low as it was; Christ only knew how this might evolve if she didn't intervene.

"Resistance reports are on the table?"

"Yes," Eleanor said, placing her hand on the small of Betty's back and steering her towards the door, "I'll be right back." Paying little heed to what Dobie might have to say about their abrupt exit, she maneuvered the lieutenant out of the office and into the room next door. Not a second later, Betty let out an incredulous bark of laughter.

"Old _girl_?" she exclaimed, making Eleanor glad she'd had the piece of mind to close the door behind them.

"He's..." she began, hesitating, not sure how to describe the handful that David Dobie was turning out to be without complicating things further. She pulled a face and reached up to rub at her forehead. "Colorful."

"That's one way of putting it!"

"Apparently his colleagues across the river are worse," Eleanor breathed, shaking her head avidly when Betty frowned. They would cross that proverbial bridge when they got to it. "Don't ask." She smiled faintly to herself. _If said bridge is still there, of course. Wouldn't be the first time it got blown up right in front of us._ "I picked him up from along the dike earlier—"

"We're taking in strays now?" Betty questioned dryly, and Eleanor would have laughed had she been any less exhausted.

"Seems that way," she said instead, tilting her face back towards the ceiling and heaving a long-suffering sigh. _How long am I going to have to keep explaining this, I wonder?_ "The Brits went straight to division rather than talking to us."

Betty made a sound low in her throat, suddenly and somewhat eerily resembling an angry cat. "Rats," she grumbled, "I knew I didn't like the sound of that radio op's voice."

"I doubt it was his fault," Eleanor said, "In any case, Sink wants a sit rep in—" she glanced at her watch, "Forty minutes. Chances are we'll head for second sometime after that."

It took Edwards all of a second and a single deep breath to switch gears, some of the tension dissipating from her posture and making way for steely determination. "What do you need?" she asked simply, smiling a little when Eleanor grinned gratefully and threw an arm around her shoulders.

"Get on the phone, try and get a hold of General Taylor," she said, hugging her friend close for a moment. Betty might not like Dobie much but she could always be relied upon to get stuff done, and for that at least Eleanor was glad.

"He'll be asleep by now, won't he?" Betty pondered, fingers brushing the horn of the telephone as she sat down beside it. Eleanor's smile turned grim.

"Let's wake him up, then."

"Yes ma'am."

With Betty occupied for the time being, Eleanor headed back into the main office and made for the opposite end of the table from where Dobie was seated. "So," she said, resting her hands against the edge of the coarse wood and rocking back and forth on her heels, "What else did Digby have to say for himself?"

Dobie looked up from his examination of the map. "He's skeptical about your tracers, but he'll agree to it if that's what your people want." Eleanor raised her eyebrows in response.

"I'd count on it."

"I thought so," Dobie admitted, leaning back in his chair and stretching out his legs, "He also approved the landingzone."

"No doubt the choice of name helped," Eleanor said ruefully, angling her head until she could see the reports that Dobie had been reading._ Materiel summaries. Huh_. "Have you given any thought to where we might be able to get some boats?"

"Your engineers wouldn't be able to provide any?" Dobie ventured, which worried Eleanor; while she was sure they'd be able to rustle up some boats somewhere, they probably didn't have them readily available. That task usually fell to their accompanying infantry and armored divisions—in this case, the British 30th Corps.

"Gosh, you're a terrible date," she quipped lightly, hoping to ease him into asking his own support units for help, "Can't even bring your own equipment."

If he was at all surprised by the repartee, he didn't show it much. "Why, Nurse Spook, how thoughtless of me," he said, barely batting an eye, "However can I make it up to you?"

"Nothing says 'I'm sorry' like a set of expandable boats," Eleanor suggested sweetly, ducking her head with a smile when Dobie chuckled softly to himself. "Seriously, though, our engineers might be able to do it but getting them here would take some time." _Time which we don't have._

A pensive nod. "Our lot might be able to help."

_Gotcha_, she thought, narrowly keeping her smile from widening in triumph. _Two can definitely play at this game._

"Captain?" Betty interrupted from the doorway before Eleanor had a chance to broker anything else, "I've got General Taylor for you."

"Thanks," Eleanor said, following her subordinate to the waiting telephone. She picked up the horn and paused for a moment, covering the mouthpiece with her hand as she turned to Betty.

"Hey, Bets?" she asked, waiting until she had Edwards' attention before continuing, "Find out if there's a secure line for General Horrocks over at 30th Corps." Once she'd received Betty's nod of understanding, she shifted her fingers away from the edge of the horn and pressed it fully against her ear. She could just make out Taylor's voice among the background buzz, talking to one of his men while he waited for her to come on.

"Good morning, sir."

"I'm not too sure about that, captain, but hello," the general said, clearing his throat to keep himself from sounding too scratchy-voiced or sleep-deprived._ So we did wake him up_. "I hear you've found our guest."

Breathing out slowly, Eleanor slumped back against her seat. "Yes sir, I certainly have."

* * *

Morning broke cold and overcast mere hours later and found Eleanor in much the same position as she had been before: in her office, sorting through papers and fighting the urge to just curl up and go to sleep. She'd been right in her assumption that there'd be no rest for her that night; by the time they had briefed Sink, gotten in touch with various other parties - including 30th Corps, who fortunately seemed to think they _would_ be able to supply half a dozen dinghies - and finalized their preliminary plans, it was past 7 AM and there was really no point in going to bed anymore. They were due to leave for second battalion in a matter of minutes and would stay for however long it took to fill them in and smooth things over—which in all likelihood meant most of the day.

She'd woken her team about an hour earlier and had filled them in on what was happening; since then, Betty had taken charge of their shifts and left Eleanor to her work with a whispered "good luck" and a significant look at Dobie. With the girls taken care of and her orders clear at last - General Taylor had insisted she manage their side of the operation as expected - Eleanor was now in the midst of packing up any required materials for the upcoming meeting. Hiding a yawn behind her hand, she ogled the coffee-stained cup at the edge of her desk. It seemed caffeine might once again be her saving grace; she was pretty certain that all that was keeping her up were the sizeable mugs of tea and terrible tasting army coffee she'd drank, plus perhaps a naturally heightened level of adrenaline. In a somewhat terrifying reflection on her state of mind, she was fairly certain she'd absentmindedly considered the possibility of an IV of caffeine sometime in the very early hours of the morning. _Whatever keeps me awake, right?_ She didn't see the situation improving anytime soon, either, but that was just the way things were. It was hardly the first time this had happened.

The engines of the jeeps were already audible in the distance when Colonel Sink approached her out of the blue. "Fairfax," he said quietly, and that in itself set her right back on edge; these days he only called her that when she was in trouble or when the issue in question was a serious one. Her hands stilling over the papers, she turned to him and matched his hushed tone.

"Yes sir?"

Sink glanced up and across the room to where Dobie was folding up one of the maps they'd been using. "Do you trust him?" the colonel asked bluntly, though his voice remained a near-whisper. The question took Eleanor by surprise; Sink had seemed willing enough to believe and accept the Brit until then, even if his arrival had been unforeseen and his demands somewhat presumptuous in his eyes. More than that, Dobie had been confirmed as the official liaison with the Red Devils by both General Taylor and First Airborne's General Browning; it seemed strange for Sink to second-guess him now.

Nevertheless, Eleanor considered the question carefully. _Did_ she trust him? She supposed she did; his story checked out, after all, and she had never known him to be anything but an upright - if somewhat rakish - gentleman, both before the war and over the span of the past few hours. The fact that she had known him in the past unsettled her to be sure, and yes, he was a tiresome sort of character more often than not, but she saw no reason not trust him—and, indeed, had already done so herself.

She noticed that Dobie, too, had stopped in his tracks and - though he pretended not to - was very much listening in on their conversation._ Inconspicuousness might not be his forte, perhaps. Duly noted._ "I trust the colonel, sir," she told Sink, making sure she said it loud enough for both men t hear. When she snuck a glimpse at the officer under discussion, he was purposefully busying himself with gathering up the remainder of the reports. _Good. Glad we got that straightened out._

"All right," Sink nodded, handing her the last of the documents so she could add them to the pile, "You'll ride with me, Eleanor."

She smiled. "Yes sir."

Despite Eleanor's reassurances, Sink's mood didn't improve much as they drove to Schoonderlogt; it was almost as though he'd taken it upon himself to be insulted on her behalf in addition to being vexed by the situation in general. She'd have protested against it had she had more energy and had he been anyone other than her superior officer, but as it was she couldn't help but think it strangely sweet. It was comforting to know that at least someone was on her side in this, if nothing else.

Second battalion's headquarters were still blessedly quiet when they arrived, the understated buzz of activity that came with most mornings only just starting to pick up and the smell of freshly brewed coffee pungent in the air. Colonel Strayer pushed a cup of it into Eleanor's hands the moment she set foot in his war room, the gesture abrupt but oddly considerate. Maps had been put up and a conference table prepared alongside them; apparently the regimental CO had already been up and about for a while and had summoned his staff from their billets to boot. Whatever qualms she might have had with Strayer in the past, Eleanor had to admit she was impressed—not to mention more than a little grateful.

Having everything laid out and ready was a relief: all that was left was to give Strayer a basic rundown of the situation while they waited for the relevant officers to arrive, at which point they'd be able to discuss the finer details of the plan without unnecessary repetitions or miscommunications. For the first time that day, Eleanor felt herself relax somewhat; between Sink taking her side and Strayer simply getting stuff done, this was turning out to be a far better start to proceedings than she'd anticipated. She claimed the chair nearest to the fireplace when they sat down around the table, letting the warmth of the gently crackling flames heat her wind-chafed cheeks. She watched Dobie and Sink debate what to call the operation - Sink liked 'Experiment', Dobie preferred 'Pegasus', Eleanor was tempted to suggest 'Charon' just to see their reactions - as she sipped her coffee, shrugging demurely when Dobie tried to rope her into the discussion. _Let them figure this one out. There'll be plenty more battles to fight._ She indulged herself for a little while longer, idly studying the terrain maps Strayer and his aide were pouring over while Sink tried to explain that no, 'Experiment' wasn't just a wisecrack, it had historical connotations, until at last she remembered there'd been a dossier she wanted to check and got up to get it from the adjacent S-2.

She was rifling through a stack of clipboards when she heard the commotion in the main part of the room. The door opened and shut several times in rapid succession and new voices could be heard—voices she knew, she realized, smiling to herself as she found the right file and spun back around to rejoin the group.

Swinging herself around the corner, she entered the room just in time to hear Moose Heyliger mutter something about Sink being unhappy. It surprised her to see he was the only company CO around; she'd expected at least a few of them to show up so a decision could be made as to who would take on the mission, but evidently Strayer had already made up his mind and was counting on Easy to do it. _Doesn't he always?_

"Morning, boys," Eleanor called, smile broadening almost of its own accord as the three officers standing by the door looked up at her in bewilderment. Nixon startled, helmet still in his hands, Heyliger opened and closed his mouth as though he had planned to say something but had thought the better of it, and Winters frowned at her in mild consternation.

"Ellie?" he said, lingering in the entranceway as the other two men began to move forward and Eleanor sat back down in her chair. She twisted in the seat to talk to him but was interrupted both by Sink's introduction and the overwhelming hunch that Dobie was staring at her from across the table. _No signs of weakness, remember. It's none of his business._

"Nixon, Heyliger," Sink was saying, waving the two men over towards the table, "Meet Colonel Dobie, British First Airborne. Captain Nixon is our second battalion S-2, this is First Lieutenant Moose Heyliger."

Dobie nodded at them magnanimously. "Pleasure."

"Gents, the British lost eight thousand men when Market Garden fell on its ass," Sink continued, "Which is why Colonel Dobie here has been tasked with some kind of rescue operation for the Red Devils who were trapped when Arnhem fell."

"Dutch resistance are harboring one hundred and forty of my chaps here," Dobie elaborated, pointing out the cities on the map, "Just outside of two Jerry-held towns fifty miles north of the river. They'll make their way to the riverbank and assemble in these woods here at a date and time to be specified."

It was funny how straightforward it all sounded when they said it like that; it sounded more like a simple patrol order this way, not the beginnings of a complex multi-party operation that she'd just spent the better part of the night working on. Looking up at Nixon where he stood beside her, Eleanor was glad to see he appeared to have caught on to the gravity of the situation. He met her eyes as Strayer's aide poured the newcomers a cup of coffee, his hand a brief but familiar weight on her shoulder. They took their drinks while Strayer ordered Moose to pick a team from Easy Company and see to it that they got the British troopers back across the river; Moose, meanwhile, seemed less enthusiastic about the prospect.

"A hundred and forty men?" he echoed, sounding skeptical; Eleanor did not blame him, not when it was his company which would be on the line.

"Canadian engineers have supplied six boats," Dobie said, wagging his eyebrows at Eleanor when he moved past her and she raised her own at him in question. _Might supply, more like—we're far from certain yet! Whatever happened to not selling the hide before you've shot the bear?_

Dobie carried on regardless. "The rendez-vous point is isolated and landable, I saw it myself last night," he said, waiting until the whole of the group had gathered around the more detailed charts next to the fireplace before pointing the area out to them. "At approximately 00:30 hours they will signal the V for victory with a handheld red torch." At that, he turned to Nixon with a smile. "That would be a handheld red flashlight."

Nixon smiled back while Eleanor bit back her own, self-deprecating as it was. _Great. They would get along, wouldn't they? Anytime soon now they'll be conspiring against me. Where's Dick when I need him?_ Blinking bemusedly, it took her a moment to realize Winters had remained at the edges of the group, apparently unsure about where he fit in or what he was meant to be doing. She had thought he'd welcome the chance to plan a mission like this; he hated all the paperwork and administration being battalion XO had forced him to do recently, didn't he?

"All right, we're calling this thing Operation Pegasus," Sink declared, startling Eleanor out of her reverie, "Bob, your second battalion is on the spot. Get it done."

"Captain Nixon, assist Colonel Dobie in every way possible," Strayer carried on seamlessly, "Captain Fairfax will be supervising this mission on behalf of the division. If you need anything at all, you come to me."

As Strayer moved on to talk to Winters, Dobie glanced between his newly designated co-workers. "I can hardly ask for more."

* * *

She caught his hand and dragged him into a storage cupboard just as he was about to head up to his makeshift office.

For long moments Eleanor simply held on to Dick and kissed him, her arms around his neck and her body flush to his, determined to get him to smile and forget about circumstances for a few minutes. She didn't yield an inch until she felt him begin to give in and slowly unwind, her fingers tracing patterns among the short hairs at the base of his neck even as he pulled her close and kissed her back. When she finally broke away - more out of necessity than anything else - she leaned her forehead against his jaw and nuzzled her nose against his neck. "Hey," she breathed, smiling as he chuckled and wound a hand into her hair.

"Hey," he murmured, pressing a kiss against the top of her head, "what was that for?"

_You looked lost before and all I really wanted to do was embrace you and hold you and make it go away._ "Nothing," she said, "'s been a long day already and I wanted to see you before that blasted typewriter claims you again."

He hummed quietly in understanding, his arms tightening a little around her back. "This Operation Pegasus," he said, pausing briefly to gather his thoughts, "is it—"

"Dangerous?" she supplied, fairly certain she knew where he'd been going with that sentence, "Maybe. Risk free? Certainly not, but then nothing ever is around here." She leaned back to meet his eyes, worrying her lip between her teeth. "Either way, we've got to get those men out of there and Dobie knows what he's doing."

Winters looked away and grumbled something under his breath, looking more piqued than Eleanor remembered seeing it in a while. She had to duck her head before she was able to catch his gaze again. "What was that?"

"I don't like the way he looks at you," Winters muttered sheepishly. Eleanor tried but failed to keep herself from laughing.

"Well neither do I!" she said, reaching up to run her thumb along the arch of his cheekbone when his expression turned positively affronted. "You've got nothing to fear there, darling." She pressed a quick kiss to his lips. "Nothing," she emphasized, though her smile faltered a bit when she recalled her earlier discovery. "I think I know him from before."

"Before?"

She nodded. "Before the war, I mean. We used to move in the same circles back then."

"Does he know about—you know..." Winters said, letting the words hang between them meaningfully as concern flickered across his face. He hadn't met anyone from her past before - not like Nixon, who'd had the dubious pleasure of running into Peter Feversham while they'd been in London - but he'd seen firsthand how other things associated with her life before Aldbourne had wreaked havoc on her well-being. The revelation that she knew Dobie inevitably set off alarm bells for him—and though he would never admit it, some part of him couldn't help but be jealous that Dobie might have gotten to experience Ellie the way she'd been before the war.

"No," Eleanor whispered, fingers finding his lapel and clenching around it, "no, no, he's not—there's no danger. It's just—"

"Strange?"

"Extremely." She smiled wryly. "And bloody irritating."

"I can only imagine," Winters said, tenderly guiding her head down to rest against the crook of his neck. "What will you do?"

"My job," Eleanor muttered, though she didn't move away, "dwelling on it won't do anyone any good. I do enough of that as it is."

Voices resounded in the hallway outside the closet, causing both to catch their breaths and look towards the door, half-fearing it would open and reveal them to whomever was on the other end—but the voices passed them by and soon all was silent again. Eleanor sighed regretfully. "Guess I'd better leave you to yours," she said, craning her neck so she could look up at him, "I was gonna cheer you up, you know. But you had to go and be sweet and worry about me instead."

"Who said I can't do all three?" Winters smiled, leaning down to kiss her goodbye before sneaking out of the closet and heading for the stairs. As his footsteps faded away towards the attic she made for the courtyard, deciding that since she had another ten minutes until they were meant to reconvene in the S-2 she might as well go outside and get some air. It didn't shock her one bit to find Dobie leaning against one of the walls, seemingly lost in thought as he smoked a cigarette. Shaking her head with a wry smile, Eleanor went to stand next to him.

"You're taking this well," she commented, the cold of the stones seeping through her jacket as she rested her shoulders against them.

"Hm?" Dobie said absentmindedly, eyes remaining fixed on the men and materiel at the opposite end of the quadrangle. Eleanor wasn't sure what if anything he was looking at; besides two GIs welding some random bit of equipment and a few other troopers bustling about, there really wasn't very much to see.

"I said you're taking this pretty well," she said, tearing her own gaze away from the men and towards the officer beside her; finally, slowly, he did the same, regarding her blankly. She shrugged. "I don't imagine you run full blown covert operations often, is all."

"No," Dobie agreed. "Not really." He took another drag of his cigarette, making sure he exhaled the smoke in the opposite direction before turning back to her and narrowing his eyes. "I'd say the same of you, but I have a feeling you _have_ done this before."

_Easy, easy, stay calm..._ "How's that?" she said simply, very careful not to cross her arms or seem at all defensive.

"Command has a way of getting overexcited about these things, yet you've managed to keep them all in line and satisfied with what's being done so far," Dobie said, cigarette between the fingers he used to point at her, "that either makes you a prodigy or an old hand." Another drag of smoke—silence. Eleanor briefly considered defending herself - she hadn't really done that much yet, Sink just didn't _do_ overexcited, the whole thing was awfully presumptuous of him - but found she lacked the words; she didn't like how translucent he'd made her out to be, but getting a bit of recognition - no matter how backhanded - was admittedly nice.

_This is exactly what he wants, though, isn't it? He's using my own ego against me to test the waters and see if I respond to any of his allegations._ She was about to call him out on it when, quite suddenly, he spoke up again.

"I'm sorry we didn't come to you directly," he said softly, and there was none of the pretense now—just the genuine sentiment.

Ducking her head, Eleanor kicked at a loose pebble and tried not to show how much the apology pleased her. "If there's one thing I'm used to, it's being snubbed."

"You shouldn't be."

And damned if there wasn't a vestige of admiration in his voice, too. "It is the way it is," she said, turning her head to contemplate him—this impossible character, this odd gentleman, this soldier who she might have once called her friend. There were so many questions left unanswered, so many things left unsaid. _Might as well start somewhere._ "How did you escape from Arnhem?"

"The Germans took me to one of their hospitals to have my arm looked at," Dobie said, flicking the remnant of his cigarette away, "I waited until the nurse and doctor were distracted, then bolted out the window."

_Ha, of course he did. _"I think you're going to get along with Easy Company just fine," Eleanor grinned, remembering their antics over the past summer with equal parts fondness and exasperation.

"They bolt out of windows, too?"

"Just hospitals."

"Sensible fellows," Dobie declared with a smile, once again scanning his surroundings. "You seem close to the officers here."

It was an offhanded enough remark, but Eleanor knew full well that it was his way of worming more information out of her. "They're friends," she said easily, "I don't think I've ever met better men. Serving with them has been—" she broke off once she realized he'd taken to staring at her again. "David?"

The name had slipped out before she even fully registered it, but she had no trouble noticing the smug grin he gave her in answer. "Are you sure we haven't met?" he said, watching with something akin to satisfactin as she rolled her eyes and pushed away from the wall, "I could swear we have."

"Does it matter?"

"Perhaps not," he said, eyes dancing, "Either way, I'm glad it was you who picked me up." He winked at her cheekily. "You're definitely a lot prettier than the average GI."

This time, she had no scruples about smacking solidly him in the arm.

It was going to be a _long_ few days.

* * *

**Apologies as always for taking longer than expected to get this up - writer's block is a pain, kids, let me tell you. I know this chapter doesn't star many of the main characters from the series, but I hope you've enjoyed it regardless. :) Happy holidays, everyone!**


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